


as above so below

by Dandybear



Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game), The Wicked + The Divine
Genre: Blood and Gore, Body Horror, F/F, FrankenRachel, Joyce Price is thicc, Max is kind of in love with everyone and that is canon, Menstruation, Multi, Necromancer!Victoria, Non-graphic magical vore, Realistic Descriptions of Decomposing Bodies, School For the Supernatural AU, Sex, Zombie!Chloe, trans!Victoria Chase, werewolf!kate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-30
Updated: 2018-01-02
Packaged: 2018-03-26 11:25:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 43,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3849172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dandybear/pseuds/Dandybear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Never a dull moment at Blackwell Academy for the Paranormal.</p><p>Once more we return.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. undead and loving it

**Author's Note:**

> Chloe is more of an Intelligent Zombie, like in iZombie, Lollipop Chainsaw, and Warm Bodies. She primarily eats brains, can take a lot of damage, and doesn't smell like a gross corpse. Basically a less cool version of a vampire.
> 
> Kate's werewolf type is based partly off Bigby from Fables and partly off the werewolves in Wolf Children with a little American Werewolf in London thrown in. She retains wolf features even as a human, but can control how much shows. She can't control herself during a full moon, and will "wolf out" if agitated.
> 
> Victoria's spell is made up and purposefully vague. I used some resurrection imagery and mythology, but the circle and the candles are really used in spell work.
> 
> There are probably spelling mistakes in this.

_I howl when we're apart  
drag my teeth across your chest to taste your beating heart_

 

Sunlight filters in through the windshield leaving a dusty dappled pattern on the dashboard. Well, what can be seen of the dashboard through the empty cigarette cartons and parking tickets.

 

The centre of the bench seat is a serving platter of home packed lunch and convenience store goods. Apple  danishes wrapped in plastic, a basket of cherry tomatoes fat enough to pop like zits, corned beef sandwiches with grainy mustard and shredded cabbage, and thermos full of tea.

 

Chloe hammers a beat on the steering wheel, buzzing with that nervous energy that couldn’t even be taken from her in death.

 

Well, undeath.

 

She takes a cursory look around before reaching under the seat for her own boxed lunch.

 

Max, sitting in the passenger seat keeps her eyes on the bushes ahead of them. She pops a cherry tomato with her teeth, enjoying the feeling of the seeds dripping down her chin. She sucks the pods back in with her lower lip. She reaches for another tomato.

 

The drivers door creaks open and Chloe slides out to pace in the parking lot and eat.

 

Max appreciates the gesture. The smell of decomposition and formaldehyde really puts her off her appetite.

 

Her eyes can be tricked into seeing raw ground beef where there is brain tissue, her nose is not so easily fooled.

 

She makes the mistake of looking at Chloe just as she’s shoveling in a large chunk of grey matter. Her fingers are still on the palate between grey and red. Max blows out a breath and puts her head between her knees.

 

This is so fucked up.

 

As she resurfaces, the edges of the bushes start to shudder. Max reaches for her camera to catch the shadows of half-human half-canine limbs brushing branches away.

 

Tawny hair gets lit up by the sunlight as it emerges. A few fly-away hairs wrapped around twigs make little victory flags.

 

Kate shakes her head (not unlike a dog) to try and knock them loose. Weary, pale, and wearing torn stockings she makes her way to the truck. Chloe waves a bloodied hand. Max tips herself out of the cab to jog and catch Kate in a hug.

 

Kate smells like wet earth, rotting leaves, dog, and something that’s pure Kate.

 

“Hey, how you feeling?” Max says in her “Kate voice”.

 

“Like I just chased deer all night and probably rolled in the unspeakable.”

 

Max raises her eyebrows and tries for a reassuring smile.

 

“Gross, Max. I feel gross.”

 

“I brought you some lunch.”

 

“I can smell that.” Kate says.

 

She pushes the hair out of her eyes and Max watches her pupils expand. Kate bemoans her… condition, but Max thinks the giant puppy appearance suits her.

 

“Hey, you didn’t kill anything this month, that’s a win.” She says.

 

Chloe’s smoking against the hood of the car by the time they get back. She’s wiped her hands on her tank top in a grotesque parody of the shot that ended her life.

 

“‘Sup Kate?”

 

Kate gives Chloe a world weary stare as she reaches into the cab. The way she unwraps the paper around her sandwich is delicate and deliberate. Very Kate.

 

Long runs in the moonlight and an increase in body hair wasn’t originally on the table for the eldest Marsh daughter. Kate had plans. She was going to go to art school and become a children’s book author, settle down with one point two kids and raise them in a good Christian home.

 

But, at age thirteen she got mauled by a werewolf on her way home from school and excommunicated by most of her extended family. They saw the devil’s taint in the bites. Like she had somehow succumbed to temptation by being a random target of assault.

 

Blackwell does, however, boast a fantastic art program, so the children’s books aren’t a no-go. Chloe, known for her wonderfully inappropriate sense of humour, has suggested on multiple occasions that she write an updated Red Riding Hood.

 

Max agrees silently to this.

 

Kate is looking between Max and the remaining sandwich. Her nostrils are flaring and she has a faint trail of drool glossing her lower lip.

 

“Go ahead.” Max says.

 

She can’t help but giggle at Kate literally wolfing down a roast beef sandwich. Kate is the picture of poised. Her spine is so straight it’s like she’s being tugged upward toward heaven by an invisible line.

 

Now, ‘beast mode’ Kate is a big fluffy puppy who likes cheese danishes and rolling in grass when no one is looking.

 

Chloe is picking between her teeth with snaggled nails.

 

“So, are we ready to head back to school? I’ve got a history paper to bullshit my way through. I could know the firsthand account if Max weren’t such a selfish--”

 

“My powers so do not work like that Chloe. I can’t just pull up in a tricked out police box and take us on a family friendly history-altering adventure.”

 

Kate looks up from her danish to look between them.

 

“As admittedly awesome as that sounds.”

 

Kate swallows, “Time travelling adventures with a zombie and a werewolf. I’m sure there’s a teen romance about it in the works.”

 

Chloe scoffs, “Doubt it. Vampires are the sexy undead. Us zombies, we shuffle around and get fetishized in the weird Japanese shit.”

 

Max rocks back on her heels, unsure of how to proceed other than to pile into the cab of Chloe’s truck.

 

“Everyone fasten your seatbelts. Dying is no picnic.” Chloe says.

 

The bitterness in the cab isn’t coming from the tea Kate’s drinking. At the moment, Max feels protected by having meat shield from Chloe’s icy disappointment.

 

If only Max had reversed time to save Chloe before she got shot instead of a hamfisted resurrection spell bringing Chloe back to life like the lyrics of an Evanescence song.

 

Rachel would’ve done it better goes unsaid between them. It helps fill the canyon of distances that’s been straining their friendship for years.

 

Kate burps delicately.

 

“Well brought up.” Chloe says.

 

She puts on her sunglasses and peels out of the parking lot.

 

 

* * *

 

 _And if your heart stops beating_  
I'll be here wondering  
Did you get what you deserve?

 

The hinges of the cab creak as they swing open. The seat is sticky and red. Chloe, slumped against the door, falls in a wet heap onto the pavement. Max swears and runs around the truck to pick her up. The cigarette clenched between her teeth now lies in a puddle on the concrete.

 

“Oh fuck, oh shit. Chloe hold on, I’m gonna get help.” Max drags her body across the floor.

 

Chloe’s bleeding out fast, her eyes are flickering rapidly, her skin is too pale. She’s going to die.

 

“Jesus Christ. Somebody help!”

 

Max staunches the blood with one hand.

 

“Max, come on man, I’ve got a great future ahead of me.”

 

“Should’ve thought of that before you decided to bring a gun to a gunfight, Dumbass.”

 

“Do you really want those to be your last words to me, Max?”

 

Max hears a bottle shatter, she and Chloe both jerk their heads up. Rather, Chloe’s head lolls in place.

 

Victoria Chase stands at the edge of the parking lot, bag of groceries dropped hard onto the pavement. Her eyes are fixed on the growing pool of blood under Chloe.

 

“Help?” Max says.

 

Chloe’s lips are grey and her breathing is the shallowest it’s ever been. Max has Chloe’s shoulders, Victoria has her legs, the bag of groceries balanced on Chloe’s stomach.

 

“Okay, left, left, left. We need to get to my room.”

 

“Do you have treatment for gunshots in your room?”

 

“I have my fucking spellbook, so that’s a start.”

 

Max thanks the various gods, including her own grandmother, for automatic doors. However, it’s past six and she needs to using her goddamned key card to open them, so it involves juggling, Chloe’s body and jamming one hand into her jeans.

 

“This is a nightmare.” Victoria grunts as a bit of blood splashes her sweater.

 

“My best friend is dying.” Max says.

 

Kate is in the hall with her nose in the air.

 

“Oh my god, Max. Chloe!”

 

Having the extra set of hands and superhuman strength really makes it easier. She carries Chloe to Victoria’s door while Max grabs the groceries and holds Chloe’s wound. Victoria opens her door and they all spill in.

 

“Okay, give me a second.” Victoria says.

 

Max drops the bag on Victoria’s desk. Blood is only oozing from Chloe’s stomach now. Kate’s legs shake, but not with the effort.

 

“Max,” Chloe says.

 

Max wipes a bloody hand across her brow, “I’m here, wh-what’s up?”

 

“Tell Rachel I’m sorry, okay?”

 

Max nods, feeling hot tears pouring down her face. She keeps nodding and snuffles.

 

“She’s dead.” Kate says.

 

Max’s legs give out and she keens. She can feel Kate’s uncertainty. She wants to comfort her, but Chloe’s covered in blood and Victoria has a white couch that says ‘bodies off limits’.

 

She hears the flapping of fabric and Victoria’s movement behind her.

 

“That’ll actually make this easier. I’m better at resurrection spells than healing spells.”

 

“My best friend. Just. Fucking. Died. Victoria. Can you be a person for just five seconds?”

 

Victoria purses her lips and scrunches up her forehead.

 

“Kate, can you put the body down on the circle please?” Victoria’s voice is flat.

 

Relieved to help and do something to ease the tension, Kate steps around Max to place Chloe on the transformation mat.

 

“You have a transformation mat just for resurrection?” Max says.

 

“I’m a necromancer, Max. It’s kinda my speciality.” Victoria says.

 

She’s pulling a box from her shelf and setting up multi coloured candles around the corpse. Kate plucks Max up from the floor and onto the couch. Max’s vision is still fixed on the wall. Kate’s warm, warmer than humans. Warmer than Chloe’s body.

 

“What’s the coin for?” Kate says.

 

Victoria has something in her mouth as she speaks, “Well, typically you leave some coins to pay the ferryman for safe passage to the afterlife, but these are to pay him off. He’ll tell the boss that she got saved by doctors or healers or whatever.”

 

“And for the record, you’re lucky I have the ingredients lying around.”

 

Max blinks and turns to see Victoria placing a lotus over the bullet hole.

 

“We need something she loved, something that she’d come back for.” Victoria says.

 

Kate speaks, “Well, Max is here.”

 

Max laughs, a brittle little choke, “Not good enough. She’s too pissed at me right now.”

 

Fishing into her pocket, she does dig out a pair of friendship bracelets, Chloe and Rachel’s.

 

“Why do you have these?” Victoria says.

 

Max feels her cheeks heat up, “It should be enough, right?”

 

Kate strokes her hair, she catches Victoria looking closely at them and then away. Her posture hardens.

 

“Pass it then.”

 

Max passes it wordlessly to Victoria, who balls it up and shoves it into Chloe’s palm. Kate’s blinking rapidly and keeps scrunching her nose.

 

“You okay?” Max says.

 

“I’m fine.” Victoria says.

 

She keeps her eyes on Kate.

 

“Just, heightened sense of smell stuff.” Kate says.

 

“That’s about to get worse.” Victoria says, lighting some incense.

 

Kate coughs, her eyes watering.

 

“I think I need to leave,” She says, “Max, are you gonna be okay?”

 

Max nods against Kate’s shoulder, “You should probably call her parents in case this goes south.”

 

She doesn’t even recognize her own voice over the ringing in her ears.

 

“Can I have one of your hairs before you go?” Victoria says.

 

“Why?”

 

“Moon magic is very potent, bringing a life back is gonna take more than I have in reserve right now.”

 

Kate plucks a few hairs from her cardigan and gives them to Victoria. She turns heel and leaves.

 

Victoria sniffs, she’s doing something with a pestle that involves something smelling strongly of pasta sauce.

 

“Are you going to make her into a pizza?” Max says.

 

“There is an herbal element to it. Can you light those candles?” Victoria says.

 

She’s rubbing at her face.

 

“Are you crying?” Max says.

 

“Fuck off, Caulfield.” She snaps.

 

“Okay.”

 

Max is kneeling next to The Body. God, it’s like that episode of Buffy. Everything feels the same, just stretched. Like the moment before she leaps through time. Something is amiss.

 

“Why didn’t you just go back in time and stop her from getting shot?” Victoria says.

 

“I did. It happened every single time. I frozen time and moved the bullet. He just fired another round, and I couldn’t rewind after that.”

 

“Shit. The fates have cut the thread.” Victoria says.

 

“Pardon?”

 

She rotates her wrist in a non-gesture, “Chloe’s card is punched. She was supposed to die today. Nothing you could have done.”

 

“Does this mean the spell won’t work?” Max swallows hard.

 

Victoria finally turns around with a bowl full of yellow powder. She kneels by Chloe’s head and begins dusting a line from her forehead to the seam of her jeans.

 

“There’s a difference between life and undeath. This is a loophole. Her card’s punched, her thread’s cut, but she can still go on as something other than Chloe Price.”

 

Max grabs Victoria’s wrist. She flinches at the contact. Max makes sure to maintain eye contact.

 

“Will it be Chloe?”

 

“Yes. Same charming personality, same memories, but she’ll still be dead.”

 

Max drops Victoria’s hand and lets her continue.

 

“One more thing. Magic isn’t cheap. It requires sacrifice. This spell needs a life for a life.”

 

With a shaking finger, Max points to herself.

 

“Not you. Like, a squirrel or something. Hang on, I think I still have a rat in my bag we can use.” Victoria says.

 

Max whimpers, “This is so fucked up.”

 

“Yeah, well, do you want your best friend back or not?”

 

The door opens again. Kate stands there, her chest heaving, with her pet rabbit in hand. Tears are streaming down her face.

 

“Kate no.” Max says.

 

“Do it.” Kate says through gritted teeth.

 

Victoria looks between them, looking at both sides before picking her winner. She takes the rabbit from Kate, who pauses to stroke its ears and kiss it.

 

“Kate.” Max whispers.

 

“I’m a megafauna carnivore. It’s doing me a favor by removing the temptation, honestly.” Kate says.

 

Victoria whispers something to the rabbit and puts it on Chloe’s chest. It scrabbles and scratches.

 

Then she plunges a needle full of something clear into Chloe’s heart and leaves the syringe there.

 

“Hold hands.” She says.

 

Little hairs on Kate’s palm tickle Max’s own sweaty hands, Victoria smirks at a silent masturbation joke that Max can see cross her face.

 

Then Victoria starts to chant something. There are no lights or coloured smoke. Death doesn’t appear to play ‘rock, paper, scissors’ with them. Max can feel a pulling at her navel and like the energy is being drained from her through a straw.

 

The candles burn a little higher, then snuff out into smoke. A butterfly flutters in through the window and lands on Chloe’s nose. She scrunches it up and groans.

 

Max bursts into tears and grabs at Chloe’s arm.

 

“Chloe.”

 

She exhales the word shit and grunts.

 

“I can’t feel my legs and what I can feel is limp like a sad weiner.” Chloe says.

 

That makes them all burst into wet chuckles. There’s a knock on Victoria’s door and they all freeze.

 

“It’s me.” Taylor says through the door.

 

“Come in.” Victoria sighs.

 

She and Courtney come in with arms full of bagged blood. Courtney gags at the smell.

 

“Gross, we need to get some Febreeze up in here.”

 

Taylor licks her lips and hands Victoria a smell.

 

“You’re lucky I have my own stash.” She says.

 

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll pay you back.”

 

“What’s the blood for?” Kate asks.

 

“This moron lost like three quarts. She’s functionally useless right now, like a deflated balloon.”

 

“Fuck you, Victoria.” Chloe groans.

 

Max chokes back a noise between a laugh and a sob. She feels boneless, no longer taught from stress. She needs to pass out, but the journey isn’t over yet.

 

“So? Fill me up?” Chloe says.

 

“It’s going to take hours and I’d rather you not stank up my room any more than you already have. Take your IV and get the fuck out.” Victoria says.

 

Chloe finally opens her eyes fully and-- holy shit. The pupils, once a nice washed out colour of blue, now glow around the edges. It’s as if a pot of ink was spilled onto her sclera, staining them a purple-black colour.

 

“What?” Chloe says. She sounds between groggy and aggressive. Drunk Chloe voice.

 

“Your eyes are pretty.” Max says.

 

Kate’s picking up her dead rabbit off Chloe’s chest. Her eyes get huge and her nostrils keep flaring. Out of the corner of her eye, Max watches her face elongate and her mouth open wide.

 

“Seriously, all of you get out of my room. I don’t want to watch Kate stuff her own pet rabbit into her mouth, and I want this punk garbage to stop stinking up my floor.”

 

Kate’s face changes back to human and she looks ashamed.

 

“Max can you?” She holds the rabbit out.

 

Max takes it and cradles it against her chest. It’s so soft and still a little warm. It must have been so scared to die.

 

It takes very little effort for Kate to life Chloe, despite the dead weight.

 

“Here, we’ll take her to my room.” Max says.

 

Pins and needles shoot through her feet as she struggles to stand. Kate’s already out the door and it’s not fair for Max to need help. She feels like a newborn deer. Using the arm of the sofa, she pulls herself to her feet.

 

“Victoria, I-I don’t have a lot of money. I do want to pay you back.” She says.

 

She keeps her back to Max as she sets about putting supplies away. Taylor seems to take the hint to leave and leads Courtney out.

 

“I don’t need money.” Victoria finally says.

 

“I can, I don’t know, take you somewhere special to take pictures. My powers are kind of limited.” Max says.

 

Victoria makes a strangled noise. There’s blood caked on her black nails as she turns and strides over to Max.

 

“I don’t want that either.” She says.

 

Max blinks and it’s as if Victoria has teleported in front of her.

 

“What can I do?” Max whispers.

 

“A kiss.” Victoria says, looking at her shoes.

 

“What?” Max says.

 

“Ugh, nevermind.” Victoria moves her hands to shove Max away.

 

Max darts forward and pecks her bottom lip.

 

It’s the first time she’s ever seen Victoria look surprised. A smile is creeping in from the corners of her mouth. Max leans in and gives her a longer one. It’s still just a pressing of mouths together. She can feel Victoria sigh through her nose. When Max pulls away she sees Victoria’s hands are balled into fists in front of her.

 

“Payment and a tip.” Max says.

 

Victoria doesn’t say anything as Max leaves with a click of the door.

  
  
  
  



	2. max's life is a harem anime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> max's harem increases. rachel's back.
> 
> unbeta'd

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of this just started with me angsting about Rachel, but then kinda evolved a plot on its own, as much as anything I write has a plot anyway.
> 
> In case there is confusion:  
> Rachel: Frankenstein's monster or similar to Sally from TNBC  
> Frank - Werewolf  
> Nathan - Vampire/Technically a Dhampir  
> Jefferson - Some kind of Eldritch Abomination  
> Dana - Dryad  
> Taylor - Vampire  
> Joyce - Witch
> 
> I think there needs to be a bit of an explanation as to how magic works in this universe, since I don't like to put a lot of exposition into my writing.
> 
> Magic users have a finite amount of magic that is drawn from their own life force. Hence, they cannot do big spells without sacrifices or borrowed power. To sidestep this, many magic users make a contract with a god to offer up their mortal vessel as an Avatar of that god in exchange for access to that god's power. However, it is customary to draw up a contract, limiting the avatar to a certain amount of power per period (ie: month, year, decade). If the magic user goes over their limit, then they start having to offer up themselves. The god may cut them off from using their power, or they'll start making the mortal vessel resemble themselves (the god) more. This can manifest in added limbs, change of skin, animal heads, etc.

"I know that you're probably pissed at me right now and that I had no right to do this without asking... I get that. You get to be mad at me, but I'm--I'm not gonna be sorry for what I did okay?"

Chloe's voice breaks.

"Because we found you and you were dead and I'm not okay with any world where that's a reality. So, you can hate me. I just--I can't tell you how good it is to see you right now."

Rachel blinks slowly. Her neck cracks from disuse as she leans to look past Chloe's shoulder. Victoria is clutching her bloody nose and breathing heavily. Rachel looks down at the circle surrounding her feet. It's complex magic. Ancient stuff.

The room is thick with the musk of incense. There are three other people in the room with her and Chloe, but her vision keeps blurring. The room itself is stylish and monochrome, probably Victoria's, considering she's the necromancer responsible for... this.

Rachel was dead and now she is alive.

Not alive. Some half-life, an undead. Just like her WoW character from 2009. But, looking at Chloe with her black sclera and too-pale skin, it looks like she's not the only one.

She wets her lip with a tongue that feels too dry.

"Chloe, I'm sorry."

Chloe whimpers and pulls her into a hug. They're clutching at each other. Two little girls lost and found.

For Rachel everything hurts as it grinds to life again. Her veins feel tight and dry, she power blinks a few times, feeling the need for tears but there isn't moisture to spare. She probably smells awful, but her sense of it is off.

Chloe's so warm in comparison and her head still fits perfectly into the slot between her shoulder and her neck.

"Okay, starting today I'm putting a moratorium on mortuarium." Victoria groans.

"Nice Latin pun."

She and a girl Rachel recognizes as Max weakly high five as she's being lifted to her feet.

Chloe's holding her hand and she looks at it without really recognizing it as hers. It's dirty and pale.

"How long was I gone."

Chloe takes a deep breath through her nose.

"Six months."

Rachel scrunches her face up, "How bad do I look? I shouldn't be this... together."

She gestures helplessly to herself.

"It's the amount of preservatives in food these days!" Max starts.

The werewolf with her nose in her shirt says, "Rejuvenation spell!" at the same time.

Rachel pushes up her sleeves and gags. There are stitches there.

"Did you turn me into some kind of Frankenstein?"

"Yes." "Yes." "No."

Max winces and looks at the other two like they betrayed her. Victoria kind of shrugs, despite being supported entirely by the smaller girl.

"Morbid but romantic?" Chloe says.

"Can I have some water?" Rachel says.

Her hands are shaking. Whose hands are these? Where did they get the parts. She feels sick to her stomach. Well, not her stomach.

"I'm just saying we used more magic than science." Max says.

"Max, maybe we can get into the semantics of however many Promethean sins we just committed after Rachel has had some time to adjust." The werewolf says.

Max walks Victoria over to her bed to sit her down and grabs a bottle of water from her bag. The ribbed plastic slips in Rachel's grip, unused to gripping anything in well... six months.

She rubs her face. Is it her face?

"Do I still look like me?"

"Yes. Well, I've only seen pictures of you from before, but we didn't replace it with anyone--"

"Rach, you're gorgeous." Chloe says.

It's enough to stave off the panic attack that's building in her chest.

"You're magic's gotten a lot stronger, Victoria." Rachel says.

"Thanks." She sounds very tired.

Rachel stands, smoothing the jeans she doesn't remember putting on. There's something so surreal about this. The colours aren't bright enough, the smells not strong. She feels like she's interacting with the world through plastic wrap.

Laura's dead. Wrapped in plastic.

"Is there somewhere I can go? Are my parents still living here?"

"You can sleepover at my house if you want. I still have some of your clothes. My mom misses you."

"Do you think they're ready to see me like this?"

A walking corpse. A mishmash of other dead people. God, there aren’t enough corpses in a small town like Arcadia Bay for this.

At least not enough teenage girls. Five foot two and a hundred and ten pounds.

She wants to ask, but the thought makes her dry stomach roil. On doe-like unsteady legs she grabs a tissue and blows her nose. What comes out is a lot of blood and dust. She doesn’t want to know. She doesn’t want to know.

“I need to not be here.” Rachel says.

“Of course. Where do you need to be?” Max says.

“Anywhere else.”

The room is too heady. There are hormones and incense and dog smell, and she can finally breathe properly through her nose and she’s pretty sure she can feel something small with legs crawling the inside of her throat.

She staggers out of the room and runs to the bathroom to throw up. A spider comes tumbling, curling into itself to protect its body from someone else’s bile.

The hands that are gripping the toilet bowl are mismatched. She never had freckles before. Nor would she be caught dead (ha) wearing chartreuse nail polish. Her star tattoo is intact though, and that’s enough for her not to completely fall apart at the seams.

The door swings open and she really can’t face Chloe right now. She meant well. She did well, but it’s all too much at once.

“Holy. Oh gods, Rachel!” Dana’s tripping over herself to pull Rachel’s hair away from her face.

Her hands are cool and rough, filled with the grooves and cracks of bark masquerading as skin. Dana’s enough of a neutral party that Rachel can pull herself together and not completely lose it. Instead she closes her eyes and breathes in the smell of cleaning chemicals and Oak sap.

She tries to meditate. To contact Persephone. Nothing, dryness, dust. She is alone in her head.

Dana’s rubbing little circles into her back, Rachel looks at her to find Dana's blue-green eyes are fixed on the messy stitching on Rachel’s neck.

“I’m sorry.” She says.

Rachel gets up. Dana’s arms are there in case she falls, but not to box her in.

“I have some gum to settle your stomach and breath.” She says.

Rachel takes a tab with shaky fingers.

The shot of menthol to the system shocks her senses. It reminds her of Nathan’s cigarettes and chewing packs of gum to hide the smell of weed on her breath from her parents. The sting and then clear sinuses from Vic’s Vaporub. Chloe rubbing it into her chest in the same pattern Dana made on her back.

Memory, it seems, gets her blood pumping and lifts the fog from her eyes. She needs to talk to Nathan. And Victoria. Victoria first.

She strides back into the room in time to see Max holding pictures of another girl. Morgue photos of girl with freckles and red hair. She wants to cry, but she focuses on what she’s here for.

“Victoria. I can’t contact my deity.” She says.

Victoria’s sitting on her couch, her hands have turned a nasty shade of black and her nails gold. She keeps flexing and unflexing her fingers.

“You died. Contract terms and conditions still apply. It was severed.” She looks left.

“Bull. Shit. I made a contract with Persephone for that exact reason. She keeps her Avatars even after death.”

“Yes, dumbass, but who do you think had to hunt down a magical fucking lyre and call her up asking for alterations to be made to your contract? It’s only slightly easier than modifying a cellphone contract. Customer service is better anyway. You’re resurrected, but you’re cut off from her powers.”

Victoria bites into a wince as the black grows higher on her skin.

“How much power did you have to borrow from Bast for this little trick?” Rachel says.

“It doesn’t matter.”

Too much if she’s trading pieces of her own body for the goddesses power. Taking out a mortgage on your own vessel this young. Victoria’s on a dangerous path headed nowhere good.

“Rachel. Do you wanna go to my place?” Chloe says.

“I’d rather go home. See my parents. Show them this.”

Chloe deflates, “Yeah, I get it.”

The ride home is done in quiet. Rachel stares outside the window. The same sky, same dark skeletal trees, same worn down signs and houses. The only thing that’s changed is her.

Chloe tries to appear indifferent as she queues up their playlist and starts humming along.

“Keep your eyes on the road, please.” Rachel says because Chloe’s eyes keep darting back to her.

Chloe huffs and squares her shoulders.

The gravel crackles as they pull in. Rachel doesn’t wait for the truck to stop before opening the door and hopping out. She doesn’t know if Chloe makes to follow her. Instead she shoves her fists into the hoodie she’s wearing. The tiny rubber brain of gum gets spat onto the ground near the porch steps. Said steps are a different colour than she remembers. She peels back the screen door and twists the handle. Locked. Fuck. Of course. Her fingers skitter down the legs of the jeans they put her in, keys keys. Her keys were in her wallet, which was in her purse, which was on her person when she was last… alive.

She scrambles across the mess that covers the wrap around porch. Boxes labelled with her name have joined the old sawhorse, Dad’s surfboard, the ratty artificial Christmas tree, and the back fridge. She opens the fridge and grabs a freezie that she opens with her teeth. The sharp corner knicks her mouth and she tastes fresh blood mixed with sweet grape.

The cold sweetness on her tongue makes her feel human for the first time. Not just alive. Not sleepwalking, but like she can feel sunshine heating the back of her hair. The bruises on her knees from her dry heaving.

The back door is still unlocked. She has to knock away the web of a striped spider to get there, but the handle twists and lets her in.

The kitchen still smells like Pine Sol and cooking gas. It’s overwhelming and brings tears to her dry eyes.

Water.

She drinks two glasses easily and catches her reflection in the kitchen window.

This is her face. These are not her eyes.

Two different colours. One blue-grey, one blue-green, neither the right shade against the black sclera.

She leans forward to check her face for blackheads when a pale hand connects with the pane from the other side.

It makes her jump and her teeth chatter. Chloe looks apologetic. She mouths ‘Can I come in?’.

Rachel doesn’t want to do this right now. Note to self, girls with low self esteem are easy to control, but gods are they needy.

She opens the window and grabs Chloe by the shoulders. She pulls her in for a kiss that tastes like blood and grapes and apologies.

“I just need some time, okay?”

Chloe breathes out a shaky breath and nods.

“I get it. I just missed you.”

“Thank you.”

Chloe kisses her again before leaving.

“I’ll call you when I’m ready.”

Alone, Rachel goes to her room. It’s all but boarded up and carted into boxes. She sits on her bed and looks at the photographs they left. Her at age 13 in horse riding gear. California sunsets.

She flops against her bed. She’s so tired for someone who’s been taking a dirt nap for six months.

With a lot of determination, she gets a towel and turns on the shower. Her shampoo and loofa are still on the rack.

The bathroom mirror isn’t full length, but she peels back her clothing to find the new seams in her skin.

Most of her body isn’t hers. It’s that freckled girl with red hair. A seam runs through her right knee, attaching her tattooed calf. She has auburn body hair and she can’t stop looking at it.

Her vomit is purple and watery this time.

She sits under the spray and lets the shower hide her tears. It gives her time to appreciate the feeling of hot water, of steam, of the trickling rivulets between her fingers and toes. Wrapped in a towel and surrounded by the steam, she sets about removing the nail polish and brushing coconut oil into her dry and dead hair.

The bath mat tickles her bare feet and the scrubby feeling of terrycloth isn’t unpleasant. She changes into the most comfortable clothes she can find. Dance sweatpants that go high on her calves, and a loose Jungle Book T-Shirt she picked up from the local thrift store.

Rachel Amber is alive. Alive and eating cold pizza with her headphones in. She doesn’t hear the door unlock or the feet trailing up the stairs and then pausing on the landing.

Her bedroom door is open for the first time in months and her mother is staring at her through it.

“Rachel?”

She plucks her earphones out and drops the pizza from her mouth.

“Mommy?”

And when she turns to look at her, her mother will know. She’s an undead. Her eyes are the giveaway. Her heart stopped beating and she was cold and rotting in the ground for months. But, she doesn’t care. She’s being pulled into her mother’s arms and they’re collapsing against the door frame crying.

“Rachel, oh gods, Rachel. Where have you been?”

“They didn’t tell me where they found my body.” She chokes out.

Her mom is heaving with each sob and pulling her closer until she’s curled on her lap and tucked under her chin.

“We’re gonna get whoever did this to you.”

She knows it won’t be anything that simple.

* * *

“She’s alive and it’s all your fault, you fucking mistake.” Mark says.

The silver lining of his pistol leaves a burn mark after connecting with Nathan’s cheek. He sobs.

“I didn’t mean to.”

“Didn’t mean to lead them right to her? Bullshit. Now, I can deal with you dragging your feet and bitching and moaning, but I cannot let you ruin our operation.”

Mark is pacing back and sucking away at his cigarette. Nathan decides lying on the floor while he does this is the best option. The floor is cold against the burning flesh. He’s out of sight, out of mind.

“Get the fuck up and help me with this.”

“How?”

“Since I clearly have to do and think of everything for you, go find Rachel, and make sure she stays dead this time.”

“No.”

“What did you just say to me, Boy?”

“Get. Fucked. Mark. You’re the one who she woke up to see, you’re the one who killed her. Don’t put that shit on me. If you’re gonna blame anyone for this fuck, blame Bowers for selling me watered down GHB.”

Mark runs his tongue over his teeth. Both are starting to look a little black with his mood. He drums his fingers on the table.

“A suppose a visit to Mr. Bowers is due. But, Nathan, I will be telling your father about your insubordination. I’m sure he won’t be surprised or happy.”

Mark strides off back up the stairs and Nathan makes a decision.

* * *

Max is hoping for once in her existence that she can have a normal fucking day where she just goes to the store to buy a whole thing of jellybeans and doesn’t come across a sizzling corpse in the parking lot.

Today is not that day.

The corpse is still groaning. Whining, really. Goddamn vampires need to learn how to use a parasol.

With some effort, it opens its glued together lids and she sees foxlike blue eyes.

“Nathan, what are you doing?”

She drags him to the shade.

“Repenting, obviously.” He manages.

“Can you do that somewhere that I’m not? Like, I dunno… Florida?”

“I was here first, Bitch.”

She empties half of her water bottle on him. It puts out the remaining smoulder on his skin. He looks disgusting, like cooled magma with cracked flesh underneath. She should leave. Nothing good comes from the Prescott Clan. Not her circus, definitely not her flying monkies. Still, that little thing called empathy and compassion is niggling at her brain. Her grandmother swears up and down, that it gets a lot quieter after glimpsing eternity and the futility of trying to change it.

For now, she is mortal and she sees a man in pain.

“Is there someone I could call to pick you up?”

He laughs, “Max, you’re always sniffing around in everyone’s business. Why don’t you just fuck off and leave me be?”

“Because if you really wanted to be dead, you wouldn’t immolate in a public place, Genius.”

He bares his teeth, still white and sharp against his cracked, blackened skin.

“My dad owns this store, it’s technically my property.” He says.

“What-the-fuck-ever.” She says, mocking his catchphrase.

The look he shoots her in exchange is shocked and a little impressed.

“I need to feed to heal.”

“Duh.”

He inhales deeply and looks at her then the ground.

“I wouldn’t even have to bite you. It wouldn’t have to hurt.”

“What?” She blinks slowly at him.

“I mean, you’re on the rag right now, Caulfeel. I can smell it.”

Her brain short circuits. She slaps him, making them both wince, then he groans.

“You got another one of those in you?”

“Gross! You’re gross!”

She’s pushing him away, back towards the sun. His laughter is hysterical. Like a hyena.

“Well, what is it, is your hero complex enough to have you feeding the damaged vampire boy? Or are you gonna pussy out once required to actually get your hands dirty?”

“You have no idea how dirty my hands are.” She hisses.

She shoves the meat of her palm into his mouth for emphasis. He moans into biting it and she clutches his throat with her free hand.

His bite is a subtle slip into the vein, more gentle and discreet than some of the needles she’s received. He laps at her wrist as the blood drips from it. His tongue is long and curling against her pulse. It hurts. He doesn’t need to play up the sexual penetration metaphor the way he does, but she’d be lying if she said the hungry way his tongue fluttered against her didn’t do things. She rubs her thighs together and bites her lip.

What she really hopes is that no one is going to try and pee behind the store and find them locked in an embrace like this.

Another reason not to get blown by Nathan Prescott in a parking lot, at midday.

His skin is healing and fresh hair is growing out of the damaged follicles. Her nails are biting into smooth, pale tissue, making white marks against his neck that has him gasping and thrusting against the air.

She jerks her wrist away from his mouth. He whimpers again.

“Enough.” She says.

“I’m surprised you’re still a virgin,” He says sucking her blood off his lips, “What with how you whore around with your pet zombie and wolf. But, nope, sweet virgin blood. I could turn you, if you wanted.”

He says it like he’s pretending not to offer.

“Nice try. That virgin blood thing is bullshit. Any difference you’re tasting is power. Real power, not the energy you blood suckers sap off of others.”

His skin is fully healed and he’s sitting there in burnt clothing with floppy hair and a bloody mouth. Vampires are so gross.

“Don’t go quoting Edward Cullen on me.” She says to break the tension.

He scrunches his face, “Shut the fuck up, manic pixie douche girl.”

She feels lightheaded standing up. She rights her footing and presses a kleenex to the wound to seal it. Just like a shot. She really wants those jellybeans now. And a bottle of Tropicana. She gave blood, she deserves orange juice and a Hello Kitty band-aid.

Nathan is power blinking and his nostrils are flaring.

“Holy shit. Your blood is full of stars. I can see everything.”

“Told you to go easy on it.”

He’s just staring at his hands.

“I’m leaving, Nathan.”

“You know, Victoria lets Taylor do it on her shark week.” Nathan says, wiping his mouth lewdly and eyeing the Y of her jeans.

Max physically recoils. She always assumed the two of them were friendly but after kissing Victoria months ago she thought that maybe...

The walk to the store is woozy and limping, the loss of blood making her natural favouring of one leg more present. Nathan shouts at her from across the pavement.

“My offer for you to ride my face still stands!”

“Eat shit, Nathan!” She says.

She thinks about jelly beans, not that long tongue and the things it can do. She buys a bottle of Tropicana, the three dollar jug that’s delicious and doesn’t have pulp because honestly screw pulp. She chugs it while waiting for Chloe to come peeling into the parking lot.

While waiting she finds out that lime jelly beans taste good with Tropicana, toasted marshmallow do not.

She checks her phone and finds a surly text from Chloe.

Chloe: hey, not feeling it 2day

sorry

Max sighs and leans back. She watches a too-skinny black cat hugging the shadows to leave the parking lot. Her nails bite into the palm where she can still feel Nathan’s teeth.

Full moon tonight. Chloe was supposed to meet Max for dinner, then they were gonna take Kate out of town to run. Reality must have ensued Chloe’s departure with Rachel.

She’s pushing her luck by doing this, but she fires a text to Victoria, asking if she wants to join her and Kate tonight.

Victoria: uHM are you SERIOUS?

Max: we kinda need a ride

Victoria: ofc. You only txt me when you need something

Max: say hi to taylor for me

Victoria: wtf is THAT SUPPOSED TO MEAN?

Max: nothing

        ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡ °)

Victoria: UGH w/e meet at Two Whales

Max gives Kate the update and decides that it isn’t too hot to walk to the Two Whales.

* * *

The water’s too hot and Frank hisses as he dips his hands under the suds. It’s gotten to the point where every plate he owns is coated in coagulated pizza grease, and all of his cups have fruit flies. Not a clean dish to be seen. He feeds Pompidou better than himself.

He hears and smells the person outside before they knock. He closes his eyes to get a scent image.

Wet earth, rot, embalming fluid, blood, expensive shampoo, cigarettes, pizza, the smell of the ocean.

About five foot two, walking on uneven feet, female.

Knock-knock-knock-tap-tap-knock.

Rachel?

Pompidou is jumping and yapping at the door, wagging all the while. He dries off his hands as the door is swinging open. There she is, in one of her hoodies and her feather earring.

After six months.

She smells like death. The seams in her skin and that dank taste of decay on her breath tell the whole story.

When her eyes meet his he chokes.

“What did they do to you?” He says.

“Can I come in?”

But she’s shoving past him on her way in already. He half-flinches, half-leans into her warmth as it brushes against him. It’s weird and different and he’s trying to hide the fact that it has his tail between his legs.

“I got murdered.” She says, getting his tray from the table.

Like that’s something that just happens to people. He goes back to washing the dishes because he doesn’t really know how to respond to that. Rachel is sitting criss-cross applesauce on an unsturdy metal chair, crumbling purple bud between her fingertips.

“I… really hoped you were okay.” He offers.

“Yeah, well, I wasn’t.”

She twists the papers and licks the seal. It’s a sight that usually results in his jeans getting tight and ravishing her on the nearest surface.

There’s no flirtation here. This monster Rachel is all anger and the crackle of someone else’s magic. She’s a dangerous entity, and as glad as he is to see her, he kinda wants her to leave.

“You want some of this?” She offers him a toke.

He looks at her lips and licks his own.

“Just help yourself then.” He says, because she didn’t ask if she could have some of his weed.

“Don’t mind if I do.”

The cherry glows in the fading light, reflecting off faux wood paneling and tarnished steel. The moon was last night, probably some of the source of the resurrection magic. Either way, he and Pompidou need to go and piss around the edges of the territory again.

Frank reaches into the fridge to grab an entire jug of Sunny D. He’s been holding in piss for the last half hour and needs to fill the tank even higher.

“Going cold turkey?” Rachel says.

“One of the dipshits at Blackwell is a wolf. Huge alpha female, fertile and very, very, aggressive. Nearly took my head off last month. I gotta keep mine safe. You’re welcome to stay and veg while I take care of business.”

Rachel blows out a puff of smoke with a laugh.

“Shit, the girl with the Bump It has you pissing yourself?”

“Bump It?” He crosses his legs, standing in the doorway.

“She’s like five foot six and one thirty at the heaviest. Doesn’t look like she has a mean bone in her body. It’s probably some other werewolf at Blackwell.”

Rachel knows that it’s Kate who Frank is talking about. You can always read intensity on the quiet ones. Her own restraint was read as apprehension and fear.

Kate wasn’t scared of Rachel or Victoria. She was scared of what she could do to any of them.

The wolves of Arcadia Bay are thin and ratty, lean with visible ribs, wild stray dogs.

In her mind’s eye she sees the huge wolf with fur of brown and white. Snapping at Frank’s tail and back legs with massive nightmarish jaws.

Maybe the only way girls in this town can stay safe is to become bigger, scarier monsters.

There’s something thrumming under the surface of Rachel’s new body. She feels like the edges of the atmosphere. Pompeii after the last of the lava and ash had fall. The dead shell growing new life. She feels more powerful than ever before.

Frank can sense it, that’s why he reeks of fear.

“Do your parents know you’re out here?” He says.

Rachel lets her palm hover over the lit lighter. She imagines it casting her face in eerie shadow, making her look the ghoul she is.

“I already died, what kind of other shenanigans can I get up to?”

“I have to change soon.” He says.

“Need to get ready for your big, bad, wolf?” Rachel says.

She takes the hint to leave though. Frank seems to sigh in relief as she gets up to leave.

“I thought you’d be a little happier to see me.” She says.

She drops the creepy attitude and decides to just be real with him.

“I’ve had a very hard day, and I thought we could forget it all and just chill.”

Frank rubs a hand over his face.

“I need some time. Seeing you like this… it’s a lot to get used to, scent-wise.”

Rachel nods. The door flap slams behind her.

Frank keeps rubbing his face. He really hopes the smell of decomp doesn’t linger.

* * *

Victoria keeps flexing and unflexing her hands. It hurts. It really, really hurts. They look all disgusting and mummified, like black shriveled claws. She made the deal. She knew the trade would suck. Bast is a pretty chill Goddess, but Victoria’s been pushing her limits.

Is this deal Faustian or closer to Promethean? If Mary Shelley is to be quoted, it’s the latter. Is she the Post-Post-Modern Prometheus? More like the Absurdist Prometheus.

Rather, she feels absurd watching Max stick a spoon to her nose while Kate laughs around canines that are quickly getting too big for her mouth.

Joyce Price walks by, shooting Max and Kate a fond look and Victoria one of strained apprehension.

Kate lifts a hand, “Can we get the bill please? I’m paying.”

Victoria opens her mouth to protest, Max blushes.

“Victoria, since you’re giving us a ride it’s only polite.”

Her mouth snaps shut. Honestly, it’s the least either of them could do considering the shitty day she’s had.

She looks at her gnarled fingers again and feels her eyes get hot and wet. Max’s fingertips are soft as they brush over one of her knuckles. Victoria blinks hot tears and looks up to meet blue eyes.

“Thank you, Victoria. You gave up more to resurrect Rachel than any of us did.”

“Whatever.” Victoria says through a tight throat.

Kate pays in cash and they’re sliding out of the booths and heading for the car. The ride is an uneasy quiet accompanied by Victoria’s Die Antwoord CD.

The abrasive bass is hammering at her temples, but she feels like it’s a worthy penance for her passengers.

The doors open with a gentle swing, unlike the rusty creak of Chloe’s truck. There’s this field on the edge of town, where the trees meet the sea. Lots of rocks and tall grass. A good spot for a wolf to run without hurting anyone.

Kate takes a few steps into the tall grass and sheds her cardigan. Max knows the drill by now and turns to face the car. Victoria looks for a second longer, hearing the snap of Kate unbuttoning her shirt and the rasp of unzipping her skirt.

Her face is flushed when she turns around, wringing her wrists. Their collective breaths catch at each rustling drop of clothing to the ground.

“Watch out for ticks!” Max says lamely.

Victoria shoots her a ‘really?’ smirk.

“Lyme disease is serious and underdiagnosed, Victoria.”

“Max, can you come give me a hand?” Kate says.

Max sticks her tongue out at Victoria, then turns on heel to follow Kate into the long grass.

The moon is high now, and Max is surprised that Kate hasn’t shifted yet. It’s a sign of her control, grasping onto her humanity with white knuckles and black claws.

She frowns, seeing a pair of socks on the ground. Max bends to pick them up and in the process of straightening herself she sees Kate. Her eyes go from shadowed calfs, skip up her torso as fast as she can, heart hammering, to look Kate in the face.

Her hair’s down and, unlike in movies and anime, it doesn’t magically swing in front of her nipples. Which Max definitely just saw. She’s keeping her eyes up and trying to not burn the image of a pale, curved stomach and the cute thatch of hair protecting the v below it.

“Hey Kate.” He voice is caught in her throat.

“Thank you for watching out for me tonight.” Kate says.

She takes a step forward, Max doesn’t take a step back. They’re breathing the same air, it crackles, as do the bushes.

“Hey guys, better get a move on, there’s blood on the moon and I don’t want to stay out in the oh-...” Victoria’s eyes can’t pick a spot to stay on.

She takes a shaky breath out through her nose. Kate sighs, her skin growing more hair in the direct moonlight. Her groans make the hair stand up on Max and Victoria’s necks. They wince at the sounds of snapping bone and cartilage.

Kate stands taller, thinner, and much fluffier. She licks Max’s face before charging off towards the woods with an echoing howl.

“Sorry to interrupt whatever that was.” Victoria says.

“No you’re not.”

“You’re right.”

She lights a joint and offers it to Max. Typically she doesn’t partake, but it’s been one seriously fucked up day.

“We brought a human back to life, Frankenstein style.” Max says, blowing out a cloud. They’re lying on a hill, overlooking the car, the woods, and the stars. Victoria keeps wiggling minutely towards Max, hoping she won’t notice. Max is too stoned to notice. She’s had two tokes and is glad to be lying down. Everything is spinning.

Well, it always is spinning and if she focuses just the right way she can make it stop. Every rotation, every tick tock of the clock, she can make the earth’s breath catch and heart stutter.

A mouthful of her blood can rejuvenate a vampire, a bit of her life force can ask a god to release a girl’s soul.

“Why are we smoking weed on a hill right now?” Max says.

“Because it’s a shitty day and I wanna worship Bast to get back into her good graces.”

“You do that by getting stoned under the light of the moon.”

Victoria blows a ring in Max’s face, “Google it. She’s goddess of both. And of lesbians.”

“Perfect goddess for you then.” Max says.

She turns to look at Victoria with tired eyes. Victoria’s contemplating her hands --not in the way Nathan was-- she keeps flexing them and wincing.

“Do they hurt?” Max says.

“Yes. A lot.”

She hides it well, only with the occasional hiss through her teeth.

Max rolls the idea around on her tongue before spitting it out.

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

Victoria blinks at her. Eyes a black impasse in the moonlight. She worries her lip before saying,

“Kiss them better?”

That hits Max, a shot to the gut and the groin. She shifts against her pad with a groan, oh yeah, nothing sexy can happen due to a visit from Aunt Flo.

She’s getting ahead of herself, she decides, “seize the day before it seizes you by the throat” her grandmother always says.

Despite their ragged appearance, Victoria’s hands are soft. She’s probably been going ‘out out damn spot’ with moisturizer all day. The texture is… different. Drier and harder. It’s hard to feel her pulse. She skates her own thumbnail against her palm.

“Can you feel that?” Max says.

Time is slowing, she can see the swirls of the skies above. Dead stars performing an ancient dance. Doorways to different universes as far as the eye can see. Blood dribbles down her nose and honestly she should probably eat something iron-heavy before she passes out from anaemia.

“I can. Where did you just go?” Victoria says.

“Sometimes I get really close to comprehending time and space and my head gets all stretched. Then I gotta shake it like a dog.”

She demonstrates, earning a laugh out of Victoria.

“Good Kate impression.”

Max bites Victoria’s finger tip. That gets her to quiet with a gasp and wide eyes.

“Be nice.” Max says.

Her lips pat the warm, darkened skin. For the first time, she notices golden runes have been carved into Victoria’s handprints. She nips her palm at the same spot Nathan bit hers.

Victoria’s other hand goes to Max’s hair, tugging and combing, pulling her head closer. Max scrambles onto Victoria so she’s hovering over her, mouths colliding at an awkward angle. She’s not strong enough to hold herself up by wrists and knees and she begins to shake before collapsing onto her chest.

Victoria exhales an, “Oof.”

“Sorry.” Max says.

Their teeth clack with another messy kiss.

“Don’t apologise.” Victoria says.

Something is coming at them through the underbrush very quickly. Four legs, sharp claws and fangs, black tail twirling in circles.

“Meow meow meow meow meow meow!”

 

Max sighs, pulling away from Victoria. Victoria makes a noise--half surprised, half annoyed.

“Nathan, what the hell? Ouch. Get off my boob.”

She’s shoving at the skinny black cat that has wedged himself between her and Max. Nathan’s tail is twitching in agitation and his meows seem to be quite urgent.

Max wishes she never had to think of that sentence.

But, then there’s a crashing in the trees below them, yelping, and some hissing noises that have all of the hair on her body standing straight up.

She stands, dragging Victoria up with her. There are shadows moving in the woods and not all of them are cast by something. Her blood goes cold.

Two large figures come lumbering out of the bushes. One, a wolf, grey-brown, skinny and bleeding from its flank. The other is Kate, much bigger and more healthy looking. Something is chasing them, but it’s difficult to see.

Nathan is going wild, biting at Victoria’s hands and trying to drag her towards the car.

This could be very bad very fast. Something like a black tendril shoots out of the woods, aiming for the skinnier wolf. Kate jumps between them and it pierces her ribcage. She staggers, wheezes, then falls over dead.

Nononononononono.

The air crackles around Max. It’s the smell of burnt ozone, fresh paint, fresh blood. She tastes the copper on her tongue and feels the light pounding against human flesh. This mortal vessel is too weak to unleash what is building inside of her.

The Earth stops. The poles screech to a halt, flocks of birds halt in migration, for a moment everything holds its breath.

Then it begins to spin backwards, back, back to before that thing killed Kate.

She needs to find out how to stop it. Max closes her eyes and opens herself up to the energy that flows through her.

She stands on an endless pier, the lighthouse in the distance. Behind and beside it are endless lighthouses, endless worlds. The jog between them is brisk. Door number one, dead Kate. Door number two, dead Frank. Door number three, dead Victoria. Door number four, everyone lives.

Her teeth chatter and her eyes go wild as she passes between dimensions in the blink of an eye.

“Get in the car.” She says.

Victoria looks bewildered for a second, because Max was on top of her a second ago and now she’s metres away pointing her flashlight at the treeline below. Nathan bites a blackened finger to get her attention.

She doesn’t question it, just sprints downhill to start the engine, Nathan hot on her heels.

Max is in the car seconds later, before Victoria can buckle her seatbelt. There’s a crashing of bushes and Kate is sprinting alongside them, dragging a smaller wolf between her teeth like a cub.

There’s that hissing and a tire pops. No, wait, it’s fine. Max’s face is pale and blood is streaming from both nostrils in thick rivulets.

Nathan scrambles over the console to lap at her upper lip.

“Fugk off.” She shoves at him.

There’s something that’s oozing out of the darkness and spilling onto the road ahead. It flinches as the high beams are turned on by Max. Kate manages to avoid one of its hissing tendrils and sprint ahead. Victoria skids over into a controlled slide before maintaining equilibrium. Max looks paler.

They pick up speed heading back towards town. Away from the woods. Nathan is making concerned noises and kneading Max’s lap. Her eyes keep drooping closed before she snaps up.

This is very bad.

There are street lights ahead and Victoria shoulder checks. That thing is speeding up. She floors the gas, outpacing Kate in the shoulder. The lights illuminate the contents of the dashboard and send a reflection to the windshield. The creature slows.

Doesn’t like light, whatever it is. Or, it doesn’t like being seen.

Colour is bleeding back into Max’s face. She sighs deep and world-weary. Victoria contemplates stopping at Two Whales for coffee and bacon to pick her up. She’ll settle for a bottle of orange juice from the vending machines at school and an early bedtime for Max.

Early, as in, close to midnight. Well, for them anyway, they pulled a lot of all-nighters trying to resurrect Rachel.

Gods, so much has happened today.

* * *

Joyce has seen a lot of shit. If she had to make business cards they would probably say, ‘Joyce Price, underpaid professional. witch. has seen a lot of shit’.

Thus, seeing her undead daughter sulking at her usual booth, tossing quarters into the jukebox isn’t some new shit.

Hell, Chloe playing ‘Wonderwall’ on repeat isn’t even new, albeit, she usually has the courtesy to listen to it in her own room instead of subjecting the rest of Two Whales to Liam Gallagher’s English whining.

It’s about Rachel, of course. Chloe’s adolescent angst comes in four flavours: William, David, Rachel, and Max. Albeit, the latter appears less than the other three since the girl in question moved back to the area. Things between Chloe and Max are… difficult at best.

Which is likely why Chloe is here blowing bubbles in a chocolate milkshake instead of out doing the usual full moon festivities with Max, Kate, and that vessel of Bast.

The full moon hangs low against the trees. Joyce runs a thumb over her protection pendant. It’s a bloody moon, glowing orange-red against a grey sky.

A more appropriate soundtrack to the evening would be ‘Bad Mood Rising’, but instead the jukebox clicks and plays Wonderwall again. One of the truckers smashes his fist down on the counter before leaving for a smoke.

Squealing tires have her looking up and out the window. An expensive yellow car that belongs to Victoria goes by. The jukebox begins wildly flipping through music before settling on something by The Smiths. A very large werewolf drags a much smaller werewolf drags a smaller werewolf into the parking lot. Does she seriously need to get the bear spray?

The bigger one helps the smaller one over to the alley where Bowers has his RV parked. Oh, it’s Bowers. Then the bigger one helps itself to the free dog water before trotting off toward the school at a leisurely pace.

Well, that was… worthy of an anecdote at least. It has Chloe slamming down a few bills and heading for the door.

She’d tell her to be safe, but honestly, it didn’t work when the girl was alive.

* * *

“Everyone alive?” Max groans against the glove compartment.

There’s a wriggling against her lap from Nathan and Victoria leans back against her seat.

“What the fuck was that?” Max says.

“Honestly? I have no fucking idea. Something big, dark, and possibly Eldritch in origin.” Victoria says.

Nathan makes a noncommittal cat noise.

“Get off my lap, Prescott.”

“Mew.”

Max looks up and jumps in her seat. There in the illuminated path of the high beams is Rachel, looking every bit as disproportionate and dead as the day she was reborn (which was about 18 hours ago).

“We should do a Rocky Horror bit.” Max says.

“Only if I get to be Columbia.” Victoria says wearily.

Nathan is staring at Rachel through the windshield, he digs his claws into Max’s thighs.

“Jesus, fuck you!”

He’s pawing at the window, she opens the door and he comes tumbling out. Rachel aims a kick at him as he tries to wind between her legs.

Victoria looks at Max, tired and disheveled and probably stuck on the border between three different worlds right now. Nathan is pressed against the ground, avoiding Rachel’s heels. Honestly, fuck Rachel.

“Rachel. Fuck off.”

Rachel opens her mouth to protest, but her free will is tethered to Victoria’s commands. Her creator.

“And by that, I mean, leave Nathan alone, go home, and be with your parents. Take a cab, don’t walk.”

She looks furious as she pulls out her phone.

Victoria has reached her bullshit threshold and Rachel can wait to get even with Nathan tomorrow. He’s crying little huffs. She picks him up and lets Max lean on her as they wait for Rachel’s cab.

“Max, does she get home safe?” Victoria says.

Max’s eyes are going two different directions and her breathing is heavy.

“Yes, yes, yes, no, yes, no, no, no, no, yes.”

“In this universe?”

“Yes. No one dies tonight.”

“Good.”

They make it up to the dorms without getting hassled by security. If anyone asks, Nathan is her new familiar. His sobs have died down and now he’s quietly sulking.

As sapped as Victoria feels, Max looks ten times worse. She looks like she’s disconnecting, in shock. The light of Max’s bedroom makes them all wince after natural darkness. Max just kinda collapses onto the bed, knocking Victoria off her equilibrium and taking her with. Nathan makes a noise of protest as she inadvertently squeezes his skinny ribcage.

They’re in a pile on Max’s bed.

“Geroff.” Max mumbles against the pillows.

Victoria moves to get up, but the bed is so comfy and her limbs suddenly ache with the adrenaline wearing off.

“Mmkay, ‘mm getting up.”

She doesn’t.

There’s a tapping at the window that has them twitching in its direction. Their hearts stop pounding when they see green eyes and a snuffly snout.

“Kate, go around.”

Kate whines and pushes the window open.

“Kate, you’re too big.”

There’s a scratching and scrabbling at the window followed by whining. A giant hairy wolf-person is groaning and wiggling to try and fit through the gap. Her paws are wrapped around Max’s desk, sending a bottle of water toppling to the floor with a muted plastic hum.

“Kate, you’re gonna knock Lisa over.”

Her torso is through the window and the rest of her just kind slide in face first. She tilts Max’s monitor in the process, but there doesn’t appear to be any other damage.

Kate pants and wriggles across Max’s ‘Keep Calm and Carry On’ carpet to nose Max’s hand.

“Are you gonna just sleep on my floor?” Max says.

Kate nips one of her fingers in response.

Max has the mind to pull one of the blankets off her bed and slide it over Kate, who will be buck ass naked come morning.

“Kay, I’m going to sleep now, so everything else can just fuck off until morning.” Max mumbles.

Victoria nods against Max’s shoulder, even down a pint of blood, she’s still this little heat radiator. Nathan curls up on the pillow, sapping heat from their heads and sour breaths. Victoria remembers to kick her shoes and socks off and assist Max in removing hers before pulling the remaining blanket around them.

Then there’s a knock at the door.

“Hey guys.” Comes Chloe’s muffled voice.

Kate makes an annoyed growl.

“I saw you guys getting chased by something and wanted to check if everyone’s okay.”

She opens the door and Victoria staves off sleep long enough to observe her. Chloe’s eyes are illuminated by the streetlight outside and the blinking of Max’s monitor. She glares at Victoria’s arm around Max’s waist and vice versa, clenching her fists. Then, she carefully steps around the hairy breathing blanket mess that is Kate on the floor to lie on the couch.

“I’ll keep watch and make sure nothing comes to fuck with us.”

She pulls the pistol out of the back of her jeans and reclines, eyes on the window.

That does actually ease some of the tension out of the room.

“Thanks, Chloe.” Max says through a mouthful of pillow.

* * *

Max swears she can feel eyes on her at some point and she awakens to see a man with glasses pressed against her window and Nathan hissing. When she next wakes up, the birds are stirring, but the sun isn’t fully over the horizon yet. Victoria and Kate are snoring.

She can feel how tight her veins are and her throat is dry. She fumble around the edge of the bed for her water bottle and empties it by chugging.

There’s a sticky feeling in her underwear and she closes her eyes and curses because she didn’t change her pad and she probably stained the bed.

A check on the sheets show that it’s not as bad as expected, just a circle of drying blood coming from the seat of her jeans.

She needs a shower.

Kate is in the weird space between were and wolf, lying curled under the blanket, her hair stirring with each breath. She still has most of a muzzle and she has fingers but no thumbs. She kinda looks like that the Nina-Alexander-Chimera from Fullmetal Alchemist. Gods, now she really needs a shower.

Chloe sleeps like the dead. She doesn’t mime breathing for the sake of anyone, she’s just in some kind of stasis. Max lets her hand hover by Chloe’s hair before turning on heel and striding out into the hall, wash bag, towel, and a change of clothes over her right shoulder.

The showers are luckily a short trek from her room because holy shit is she woozy. One hand makes a patting path against the wall to keep her steady. Max picks the first stall. She winces at the velcro-like sensating-slash-pain of pulling a few pubes out by peeling her pad and panties off. Some of the blood is dry and brown, some sticky black globs. The water stream is cold at first and knocks the air out of her.

If she had more energy, she’d probably curl up in a ball and cry. Everything feels stretched and static-y, like the reception on an old tube TV. With heat from the tap, her shoulders relax and the water runs pink down her thighs.

The barrier between universes is thin here, a little tear between what she can see and what can be. If she pulls on it enough it will unravel.

Her eyes unfocus and for a moment she looks through that tear, peeks behind the doors.

She feels it more than sees it. Hot water, hands on her hips, being pressed against wet tile, a hot mouth--sometimes there are fangs or soft canines following the rivulets of water down her breasts. Then there’s a head between her legs and she’s making eye contact with eyes (blue/black/green), in some universes the tongue is long and curved, in others flat and broad, or just… normal.

Nails bite into her hips and she knocks her head against the wall, dizzying herself more. She chokes back a moan, burying a hand into hair (blue/brown/blonde).

The shower is still going and Max’s hips are shaky, but she is alone. With a sigh, she washes herself, shaking the cobwebs of what-ifs and could-bes from her mind. In this world everyone lives, but she bathes alone. It’s less messy and complicated in the long run.

The door swings open and there’s the slap of shower flip flops that Max should really invest in purchasing for herself. Is it one of her many admirers?

When no one opens her curtain, Max concludes that it is not. She begins the process of drying herself off. The other showers remain silent.

The curtain hisses when she pulls it back and sees Dana brushing her teeth with wood polish.

“Hey, you’re up early.” Max says.

Dana exhales loudly through her nose, “So are you, considering it sounded like quite the party you were having in your room.”

Max blinks at her.

“I guess we just aren’t as close as I thought we were.” Dana says.

“Dana,” Max joins her at the sink, “Last night was not an intentional slumber party. If it was, you’d be number one on the list with a bullet.”

That has the tension sapping out of Dana’s shoulders. The steam and mild anemia have Max leaning against the sink and panting, blood pouring out of her nose.

“Hey, are you okay?”

“I just lost a lot of blood yesterday.”

“Only yesterday?” Dana says.

She picks Max up and carries her to her own room.

Dana gets her a bottle of juice and a granola bar. Max sits with her on her bed, enjoying the smell of heady sap and fresh earth.

“So, what happened to you last night?” Dana says.

“Honestly, a lot of fucked up shit.”

She should really head back to her own room and face her adoring posse, but they can supervise themselves for a change. It’s not that she’s sore about none of them showing up to ravish her in the shower.

Max lies to herself.

Neither of them see the black cat scurrying down the hall, clearly a cat on a mission. They don’t see him climb out the window and turn into a bat that looks like a definite rabies carrier.

 

Nathan has places to be.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to see more of this universe, please comment. Otherwise it becomes low priority.


	3. everyone knows i'm a motherfuckin monster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the great body heist and revival of Rachel Amber. this takes place before the events of Chapter 2. time is relative! everyone in this story is an awful person in some way! wooo they're monsters, get it?
> 
> and if they haven't been awful yet then just wait.
> 
> Warnings for this fic being realistically gross. There are frequent talks of dismemberment, the effects of decomposition, gore, menstrual blood, intercourse, horny werewolves, and Chloe's love of tiddies. Which, honestly, if you've been reading this far it won't be much worse than previous chapters.
> 
> lyrics taken from Monster by Kanye/Nicki/Jay Z/Rick Ross/Bon Iver

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> monsters mentioned this chapter:  
> Courtney = Golem  
> Alyssa = MOTHAFUCKIN DRAGON  
> David = Argos  
> Trevor = Sasquatch
> 
> this monster (haha) took me ages because I went through some writers angst over the past few months. hating everything I write, thinking I'm a self-indulgent fraud, writers block, you know how it is.
> 
> I do not endorse the bad behaviour or decisions of characters in this series, I only channel my creative energy into how they would act and react.
> 
> this is the chapter where this series becomes a crossover. these particular versions of lucifer and persephone are based on characters from The Wicked and The Divine. go read it! it's a good-a books.
> 
> this chapter is dedicated to (nippon)Iwazaru. they are a wonderful person who makes me wonderful fanart and I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint them.
> 
> unbeta'd and like 3k written in a marathon session tonight. sorry for any typos or nonsense. i am tired.
> 
> happy days of the dead, children. 
> 
> oh, and to the comment asking if Brooke would be a literal pillar of salt in this AU. The answer is: yes, thank you for this inspiration. she will eventually show up, but she's a salt spirit.

The best living or dead hands down huh?

less talk more head right now huh?

and my eyes more red than the devil is

Thursday

Rain spatters the grey concrete staining it black. Tacoma, Washington is a wasteland known for strip malls and monster trucks. Victoria’s aura and Chloe’s pallor match the colour of the day. Grey sky, grey ground, waiting for a grey truck.

It’s a rusty old beater that pulls in. License plate M3NTDVL. Inside sits a man with collapsed eyelids and a beard like unraveled wire. Victoria keeps one hand on the pearl decorated pistol she keeps in her purse.

Chloe opens the door and lights a cigarette. The trail of smoke just adds a lighter streak to the monochromatic sky.

Their supplier looks like he has difficulty with opening the door, then with exiting the vehicle.

Humans must see him as a man with a limp, not the two goat legs sticking out of the bottoms of his jeans.

Of course a satyr would have what they’re looking for. Victoria gets out of the car and follows him and Chloe to the bed of the pick up. He gets up on the wheel well to pull out a beat up looking wood box. Were she in a Tarantino film, there’d be a camera inside the case ready to film them looking down on the contents.

She’s a photographer, she thinks about these things.

Inside is exactly what they need. Energy hums off wood and string, it’s enough to make her take a step back. She pulls out her wallet and hands the man a wad of hundred dollar bills.

“Five hundred as agreed.”

He grunts, “Pleasure doing business.”

Power radiates off him like the lyre and Victoria’s skin begins to crawl, as if physically retreating.

“You too.” She says with an inhale.

“Thanks, man.” Chloe says.

“Just be careful with it, kids. It belonged to my daughter.”

That’s a sad sentence. Chloe holds the box and her stomach gurgles.

“Can we go to the morgue now?” She says.

Victoria nods, eyes stuck on that retreating grey truck. Her lips feel cracked and burnt. She wets them with a dry tongue.

Approaching footsteps have her turning. Courtney and Taylor stand there with a tray of drinks and little baggie of munchies.

“Did you ‘make the drop’?” Courtney says.

Taylor slurps from a straw that turns red at the contact of the inner liquid.

Chloe opens the box.

“That’s what we came all the way here for?” Taylor’s nose curls.

“No, that’s half of it. I hope you two aren’t squeamish.” Victoria says.

“I have eaten your pussy while you were on your period.” Taylor says.

“Ayyoooooo nice!” Chloe would throw her hands in the air if she weren’t holding a magical lyre.

“Human flesh doesn’t bother me.” Courtney says, rolling her eyes at the other three and checking her text messages.

* * *

Monday

Max wakes up to the sound of music. She has to change her alarm song once a week so it doesn’t get ruined. She still can’t listen to Alt-J without getting annoyed. Her walk to the door is the sensation of thick carpet interrupted by sticky paper.

Caught in a yawn, she crouches down to see what the bottom of her foot connected with. It’s a postcard, inserted with shiny side up.

The picture on the front has her scrunching up her face. It’s the junk yard, a little spot near a hotel sign.

She flips it to see the back.

‘Dear Max and Chloe,

I’ve been so bored without you. Come visit me.

Love,

Rachel’

Well, if she wasn’t awake yet, she sure as fuck is now.

* * *

The Two Whales is busiest in the morning, but their meals still only take about five minutes to arrive.

“Good morning, Max.” Joyce says.

“Hey Joyce. You look gorgeous today.” Max says with a smile.

“Flatterer.” Joyce says.

Chloe looks between the two of them, suspicion changing her features before going back to the postcard.

Joyce struts off to refill coffee and Max leans out to watch her leave.

“Max, stop flirting with my mom.”

“You’re not the boss of me.” Max shovels waffle into her mouth.

Chloe’s fixing her appearance in her reflection.

“Come on, Man, hurry up. I wanna see Rachel.”

Max swallows and it feels like the spongy chunk has turned into a brick. It slides down her throat and settles in her stomach. She worries her lip.

“Chloe, I have a bad feeling about this.”

“Said you, like every weenie kid in an adventure movie.” Chloe scoffs, “Rachel would be up for it.”

“Gee thanks, Chloe, you always know how to make me feel so good about myself.” Max says.

“That’s why you love me.” Chloe pokes Max’s cheek.

Max’s face feels hot and her ears are ringing. Yeah, sure.

Done after a few bites, Max shoves her plate away and motions to Joyce.

“Hey Joyce, can I get this wrapped up for later?”

Joyce looks at the plate then frowns. Her mouth tugs to one corner, eyes darting between Chloe and Max.

“Something put you off your waffles, Max? I’ve never seen you with such a small appetite.”

“I still have an appetite for some things.” Max’s voice lowers.

Chloe delivers a sharp kick to her knee under the table.

Joyce takes Max’s plate, her face is a little pink and her eyebrows are high on her forehead.

* * *

The ground is soggy at the junkyard. Chloe’s boots kick up drops of water with each step as she marches on her merry way toward the meeting place. Max drags behind, that feeling of dread growing with each step.

She holds up the postcard and sees the matching spot.

There’s a ring of grass greener than what’s around it, and around that, mushrooms.

“A fairy ring.” She breathes.

Both a sign of magic and decay.

“Fuck.” Max hisses, rubbing her head.

Chloe is pacing back and forth.

“Rachel? Rach! Rachel we’re here.”

“Chloe, no.”

“W-what. Max, what?!”

“Down.” Max says.

Chloe looks at the fairy ring. She dives at it, knocking mushrooms aside. Max hisses, if they piss anyone off by doing this then she is going to be so done.

Her grey fingers claw at the dirt. To her left, Max sees a pair of shovels. Convenient, or staged? Her heart is pounding too hard for her to think.

Chloe gets two feet deep when she hits plastic.

Max knocks her out of the way and clears some of the dirt with her shovel. A black trash bag. She doesn’t bother looking at Chloe before she tears it open with two fingers.

The smell knocks her back. She sees pale flesh and tiny writhing white things. A hand with open fingers and palm.

“Oh my god, Chloe, Chloe don’t look.”

“Rachel. Ohnonono, Rachel. Baby please.”

Max’s ears are ringing and the shovel is dangling from her dirty fingers. Behind her she can hear Chloe retching, but her eyes are fixed on the tear in the garbage bag and the hand she just stabbed with the blade of her shovel.

She aims away from the hole when she vomits.

“Who could do this?”

Max is crawling on her hands and knees over to Chloe. She pulls her by the shoulder until they’re leaning together.

“I loved her so much, Max. What kind of world is this? Who does this?”

“Shhh… Chloe. Chloe, we need to call the cops. Her parents need to know.”

Chloe’s body goes stiff. Max looks up at her.

“No, not yet. Max, we need to bring her back.”

Max sees determination, that crazed look through blue on black.

“Chloe… I can’t go back that far. I wasn’t here when she disappeared, there’s nothing I can do.”

“I wasn’t talking about you.” Chloe says roughly.

She’s shoving a hand into her jeans and digging around for her phone. The effect would be a lot more dramatic if she wasn’t swiping through her texts and contacts, then calling the number only to get the machine. Chloe sighs and hangs up. A few seconds later her phone buzzes.

“Victoria. Yeah, it was me who called. Listen, come out to the junkyard, I need a favour and I have a feeling you’ll say yes anyway.”

Victoria arrives wearing all black and a pair of sunglasses that make her look like some kind of Manhatten widow. Her heels are not body hauling appropriate.

Max is flat on the ground contemplating her existence and the series of events that brought her here, and how to undo them. She thinks about it, watching the universe unravel with a twist of her wrist.

Instead she watches as Victoria coughs into a handkerchief looking down at Rachel.

Blonde hair stained and streaked by dirt, a blue feather earring torn in half by some kind of struggle. Chloe’s making more agonized noises.

Max didn’t even know Rachel. Not personally. They never shook hands or shared conversations filling the same pool with words.

She knows Rachel the way a voyeur knows someone. She’s the private eye investigating the missing bombshell. Learning the cadence of her speech from ballpoint ink on lined paper, the dimensions of her waist from a borrowed tank top.

According to Joyce, Rachel would have scrambled eggs, dry toast and tea for breakfast at the diner if she was alone. If she was accompanied, she’d match the order of the other person. Mercurial, reflective, decomposing. The new scent by Rachel Amber.

“Max can you help, please?”

Max really doesn’t want to help. She pats her jeans and gets up with a deep and weary sigh. Despite the inappropriate outfit, Victoria looks right at home excavating what Max will now be referring to as The Body.

“You know, I don’t even know why we have a werewolf on our team if not for this kind of situation.” Chloe says.

“Kate would get all moral on our asses and you know it.” Victoria says.

“She’d dig it up and then roll in it, then she’d get all horrified and throw up.”

Chloe heaves again.

“Like that.” Max says.

“This is a mess.” Victoria sighs.

She’s unearthed the bottom of the garbage bag and is brushing dirt away with her shoe. The heel tears the black plastic and they all lean away from the fresh smell.

“I hate my life.” Chloe says from her spot on the ground.

“You’re dead.”

“I hate my undead life even more.”

They clear away the rest of the dirt, archaeologists unearthing the tomb of a dead pharaoh.

Then they’re gathered around The Body, unsure of how to proceed.

“Let’s try and get her into the back of Chloe’s truck. I don’t want her stinking up my car, which is actually nice.”

“Okay.” Max is rubbing her eyes.

Victoria’s taking charge again, which Max is honestly so grateful for because her directions would be ‘lie on the ground in a foetal ball and maybe call the cops before coyotes come and make a snack of The Body.’

“Chloe, grab the shoulders, I’ll get the legs, Max can you steady the middle? On three.”

Max gets down into the hole and curves her hands under the bag like a forklift. One, two, three. Up it goes. It’s so much lighter than expected. Max feels as good as one can about carrying a cadaver until…

Until… oh god. The bag tears and her hands go through not on the bag, but the soft tissue beneath.

She can feel decaying organ and muscle. She removes her hands and jumps back with a shriek. She can’t rewind fast enough, removing the mess from her hands, but not from her mind.

“Max, I said steady the middle.”

“Hi, this is Max from the future. I just put my hand through The Body’s lower back and I don’t ever wanna do that again, so no.”

Victoria has more restraint in that she only gags instead of heaving.

“Okay, just arms and legs then. On three.”

The Body sways between them. It’s the moment that Max hears a sick snapping noise that she thinks ‘why don’t we just carry her by the edges of the tarp they put beneath the bag’. She rewinds before seeing what damage would have been done.

They wrap the tarp around The Body and then lift. There are tiny crackles that Max is strongly not thinking about. Then they’re rolling it into the back of Chloe’s truck. She sighs in relief. Then, of fucking course, a very wet rat comes scampering out of the tarp and off the edge of the cab.

That’s when Victoria starts throwing up.

Rolling into the Blackwell parking lot is a quiet and clammy affair. Max is pressed against the door, watching Victoria follow them in the rearview mirror. Chloe has a cigarette dangling from her lips. At this point it’s a leaning tower of ash.

It’s broad daylight, but the only person paying attention to them seems to be Samuel, who lifts a hand. Max rolls down the window.

“Good afternoon, Young Max. Is there something Samuel can help you with?”

She can see Chloe shaking her head in the reflection of the dashboard.

“Hey, Samuel. Is there somewhere on campus that we can hide something. Preferably with cold storage?”

If he is unnerved by the question it doesn’t show on his face.

“Some parts of old Blackwell are abandoned. Bad chemicals and too expensive to Earthquake proof--”

Chloe scoffs and mutters something about that money going towards the contents of Wells’ liquor cabinet. She’s probably not wrong.

Max nods at Samuel to continue.

“The old South Wing used to be a part of the cafeteria.” Samuel finishes.

“Wow, thanks Samuel.”

“You are most welcome, Young Max. Tell Rachel I said ‘Hi’.”

Any feelings of relief and thanks trickle down Max’s spine. Samuel’s pupil-less eyes seem to be friendly and warm, but his smile is too wide.

Victoria honks and the truck goes lurching forward, only to stall. Chloe swears.

**  
**  


“I guess it’s a good thing that the old lunch room has asbestos.” Chloe says.

“This place is disgusting.” Victoria says through gritted teeth.

“They’re trying asbestos they can.” Max says.

Chloe wheezes through a laugh. She reaches out of high five Max and destabilizes the tarp, sending Rachel plummeting to the floor with a wet thud. It frees one of her arms, splayed out in a taught skinned wave.

“Hi Rachel.” Max says.

The fridge turns out to be a creepy as fuck cooling chest. Opening it reveals a box of popsicles marked 1973. No dead bodies. Good. Two’s company and this chest isn’t very big.

“Okay. Wait, wait, what exactly is our plan here?” Max says.

Victoria puts her hands on her hips, frowning.

“We’re gonna bring Rachel back to life, duh.” She says.

“Fucking how?! Victoria, no offense, but this is way out of your power grade. It’s even out of my power grade and I’m a demigod.”

“Max mentions she’s a demigod. Ooh, that’s bingo!” Chloe says, waving a blank sheet of paper for emphasis.

“What else is supposed to be on there?” Max says, regretting humouring her already.

“There’s like five spaces of me being horny, the rest say Victoria sucks and then there’s a free square that I drew a dick on.”

With a sigh, Chloe adds, “Why doesn’t anyone wanna have sex with me?”

“Because you’re gross, Price.”

“Max?”

Max busies herself with opening the box of popsicles pretending not to hear.

Chloe slides down against the freezer and lights a cigarette, ignoring the non-smoker in direct proximity.

“Victoria, do you think you can do it?” She says in a flat voice.

They still have an orange flavoured popsicle. Max licks it experimentally. Hm, whaddaya know, sugar and ice don’t go bad. It just looks like it got sprayed by the ass end of a zamboni.

Victoria sighs, “Yeah. I mean, it’s gonna take a lot of power, but I think I-I can do it.”

“I’m gonna hold you to that.” Chloe says.

“I’m not.” Max says, deepthroating her popsicle.

* * *

**  
**  


* * *

Wednesday

“I mean, do you know how fucking hard it is to find a magical lyre?” Victoria pulls at her hair.

Her searches through magical texts have proved fruitless. Despite the West Coast being a magical hotspot, there is a lack of myths regarding magical stringed instruments.

Chloe slurps loudly from her cup. The contents of which are a meaty smelling mixture of what they’ve had frozen, and a very ripe brain they snatched off a motorcycle accident. Chloe likes to blend it up in a smoothie and mix it with espresso and chocolate. Mocha Frapp of the Dead.

“Found one. It’s in Tacoma. Dude wants five hundred bucks obo for it. I suggest we bring him an oboe in exchange, just for shits and giggs.”

“Chloe, what the hell?” Victoria shoves her face past Chloe’s should to look at the screen, “Craigslist? Are you fucking kidding me? He’s probably a serial killer.”

“Riiiighhht, because people with a dead body in their freezer should really be judgy about this kind of stuff.”

Victoria huffs and folds her arms.

“Look, V, we’ll take the car and the gun and check it out. Meet him at like a Starbucks or something, check out the lyre in the parking lot. If it works, great, if not, cap a bitch or whatever.”

“That’s tough talk considering your last gun battle ended with you dying.”

Chloe leans back, proudly displaying the bullet hole in her chest, “Master, you wound me.”

Victoria’s mouth and brows twist at the word. Chloe’s found the button and is gonna test how many times she can push it before the self-destruct sequence is enacted.

“I’m gonna go ask Max if she’s up for a field trip.”

Chloe stomps off towards Max’s room. She likes to run her cracked nails along the walls as she goes, tiny scratches following her path. Chloe was here, they say.

“Hey, Max.”

She knocks on the door as she’s opening it, a master of respecting boundaries.

Max has probably rewound this scenario a few times to get the timing right, let’s be real.

Because she’s sitting there slapping her guitar strings and bouncing her leg.

“Mmm… fuck this shit I’m out. Oh-oh-oh, fuck this shit I’m out.”

“We’re just going to buy a magical lyre.” Chloe says.

“I don’t really care.” Max says, putting the guitar down.

“Well, we also need to pick up some organs--the body part, not the state we’re in or the instrument-- we need some for Rach’s body and my stomach.”

“Yeah, I figured, and I’m kinda done with robbing ERs and morgues. Especially because, I dunno, the living might need those?”

“We’re just looking for some dead person’s well preserved guts. You know we’d never break the cardinal Fight Club rule of the paranormal community.”

Chloe leans back on her elbows, crinkling some of Max’s homework. Max gives her those angry laser eyes until she moves again.

“I mean it, Chloe, don’t go fucking around with human shit.”

Chloe mimes Max with a hand talking gesture.

“Don’t go fucking with human shit. Nooo Chloe, I still need those puny mortals so they can worship me when I’m a big bad god. Do you know how tempting it is to hunt, Max? Really hunt. There are so many tourists that come through town and you just know that no one would miss a white dude with dreadlocks backpacking.”

Max sighs heavily, “Chloe, I know you’re hungry, but the last thing we need is to draw attention to ourselves.”

“You know what, Max? It’s fine. Whatever. I should have expected this with how supportive you’ve been lately. Why did you bring me back if you never wanna hang out anyway?

“Chloe, there’s a difference between hanging out and helping you and Victoria do some half-baked grave robbing Frankenstein scheme. I have class, and while Victoria might be able to still pass, I don’t have the grades to miss anything”

Max flattens out her palms and shrugs, gesturing to the Trig homework spread across her bed.

Chloe dusts off her jeans and storms towards the door. Of course she’s Chloe Price and she can’t leave without throwing one more jab over her shoulder.

“It’s funny how eager you are to help when no one asks you, but get all preachy and take the high road when I actually need something from you. Have fun hanging out with Smaug and Treebeard.”

The door slams hard enough to cause a few of Max’s photos to flap in the sudden breeze. She lays back on her bed with a sigh, then shifts to avoid crumpling her homework.

* * *

The drive from Arcadia Bay to Tacoma is about three hours and forty five minutes depending on traffic. The drive itself is sat in tense silence muffled by Victoria’s violent rap music. Chloe sighs heavily for the 800th time and leans against the window.

“Okay, Jesus, what?” Victoria turns down the music.

“I wish Rachel was here.”

Victoria turns down the volume, “You know, you can walk back, Chloe.”

“What?! How did that piss you off?”

“I’m busting my ass to bring Rachel back and then you decide to turn our adventure into a guilt trip.”

“Yeah, well you’re no fucking treat either.”

Victoria turns the music back up. A flash of white by her window has her smirking.

“Cows on my side.”

Chloe throws her arms up.

“This is bullshit!”

**  
**  


Sickly white walls, yellow-green fluorescents, the smell of ammonia and pine. All morgues look the same. A porter passes them looking more like the walking dead than Chloe. He doesn’t even questioning the well dressed women entering the area. Victoria’s IGNORE ME spell works wonders.

“You know, this is kind of like shopping. I mean, Rachel’s torso is no good, so you can even pick out custom boobs.” Victoria says.

“Victoria, can you fucking shut up you evil piece of garbage?”

Victoria curls her nose and starts searching through files for a match.

“Clarissa Wong. Nice hip shape.”

She drops the folder for Chloe to see. Those are nice hips. She takes a look at what’s going on behind them. Rachel’s ass was a thing of legend.

“Damn, I just thought about something gross and weird, but we’re gonna have to go there.” Chloe says.

“What’s that?”

“Her um… vajayjay. We’re gonna have to pick out a new one, because of, you know, rats and stuff.”

Victoria takes a few sharp breaths and bites a knuckle.

“Good thing you’ve seen it up close then?” She uptalks the entire sentence in a high voice.

Chloe flips through a few folders.

“Okay, I think I’m officially out of my emotional depth. Fuck, I wish--”

“Don’t fucking say it.”

“--Max were here.”

Victoria puts down the chair she was about to throw.

“Careful, I’ve heard that you’re deadly with those.” Chloe says.

Victoria sits on said chair, she slides her chin along her palm, eyes becoming slits as she stares down at the papers in front of her.

“I didn’t think this through.”

“Which part?”

“We have to cut them up. It’s gonna get all over my sweater, and carrying them out is going to be a gross hassle.”

With a sigh she takes out the Operation-style diagram they made of Rachel. Parts coloured red require replacement.

Torso, left leg, right arm, eyes, tongue, anything with soft tissue.

This is a goddamned nightmare. Until Courtney and Taylor walk in. Taylor has her blood draining kit ready and Courtney the surgical tools.

“This is why you brought your goons?” Chloe says.

“Why do the dirty work for yourself when you have a stone servant and sexy vampire to do it for you?” Victoria inspects her nailbeds.

“Do we need these parts to be sanitary?” Courtney says, “Like, the seams could get septic if she has a functional immune system, but if her resurrection is magic based then it won’t matter.”

Victoria shrugs hard, “Try not to make it too messy.”

Courtney nods.

“So, wait, tin man here knows how to perform surgery?” Chloe says.

“That’s Clay Man to you, Roadkill, and I could fill several best selling novels with what you don’t know about me. I call it, Wag(ner) the Dog, a Rope of Sand.” Courtney makes spirit fingers and wipes them across and invisible book cover.

“Mysterious and evocative, Court. I dig it.” Taylor says.

“Less talking more chopping, ladies, my spell does wear off after awhile.” Victoria says testily.

**  
**  


The limbs weigh them down, sweat pouring down their brows as they march through the hospital hoping no one will notice the teenage girls smuggling body parts.

A few shadows try to follow them to the car, children gnashing their teeth for scraps.

“Go away.” Chloe says with no bite.

“Please, Miss, just a taste.” They tug at her legs.

They pull hard enough for Taylor to stumble and drop some of her load. The cooler of extra organs tips over and spills wet, sloppy meat onto the floor. Mouths grow of the inky forms of the children and they descend on it. They tear at the it with hungry maws, chewing but not even swallowing.

“Shit.” Chloe hisses.

They’ve tasted blood and they want more. One digs its teeth into her arm.

Victoria’s hands glow gold and the shadow children shoot back. Chloe stumbles at the loss of their weight.

“Fucking pests.” Victoria says.

Her hands look old and withered, they shake with the effort of carrying the duffel bag.

“Yo, V, are you okay?” Taylor says.

“I’m fine.” She snaps.

Her nose is pinched, flared nostrils curling up. She’s panting through her mouth and her tongue seems wrong. Too small, too sharp. For the first time, (okay not the first time) Chloe feels worry for her unsavoury companion.

“Okay. Question. Why the fuck is this place crawling with those things?!” Taylor says.

Courtney blinks slowly at her, “Taylor, why do we hang out in hospitals?”

“Because it’s the best place for fresh human fles-oh.”

“Give the girl a prize.” Chloe says.

The doors slide open as they exit into the fading sunlight. Taylor ducks back inside to avoid a beam of the weak grey light.

Victoria shrugs to drop her load and says, “I’ll go get the car.”

Chloe has only heard her own mother sound that tired before.

The drive back to Arcadia Bay is green streetlights swinging to and fro in the wind, black coffee, and the tang of blood. Taylor has control of the AUX cable and sets the mood with ambient trip hop.

Rain darts little trails down the windshield the second they pass the Oregon border. The burrowing little drops seem to race each other. The window is coated with a sheen of condensation both inside and out.

Chloe watches buildings and trees go by when that niggling sensation catches up with her.

The feeling of having forgotten something.

“I’m going to go through the McDicks Drive Thru. Anyone want anything?” Victoria says.

“Apple pie and chicken nuggets.” Courtney chimes in.

A cheeseburger would be awesome right about now. Chloe reaches in between the seats for a chunk of brains to add.

The cooler.

Taylor dropped her food cooler.

With a rising mixture of rage and panic, Chloe punches the back of Taylor’s seat.

“Fuck!”

Courtney grabs her wrist before she can more damage.

“What’s your damage, Price?!” Taylor says.

“You dropped my food, Bitch. That is my deal.”

Victoria sighs through her teeth, “Is that what the shadow children got?”

Taylor’s knee is bouncing, fearing the ire of her queen.

“I’m sorry, Victoria.” She says.

“Apologise the hungry zombie in the back seat.”

Taylor makes a noise and offers Chloe her Starbucks cup full of lukewarm blood.

“Could this tide you over?”

She doesn’t want it, but her spiteful nature and need for retribution have her snatching the flimsy soy-plastic cup from Taylor and sulking against the window while drinking.

To outliers, the Arcadia Bay sign looks like weather-worn wood with peeled paint. The faint outline of the Lighthouse not but a memory of a simpler time. Back before the cozy coastal village crumbled into the sea, flooded by a freak tornado.

It’s easier this way. Keeps visitors from passing through a town that likes to feed on the living almost as much as it likes to devour itself.

Still, it’s better than trying to pass in the human world. Spiritual hot spots are dwindling and those who try to leave either get caught or starve.

“I kinda hate coming back here.” Taylor says, rubbing her arms.

Victoria huffs, “You can check out any time you like, but you can never leave.”

* * *

Time away from the people closest to her has Max thinking about time. Her life is both the sand and the hourglass, or is she the hourglass and the child that keeps tipping it from side to side. Watching how the sand falls. Uneven piles, try, try again.

Each ticking second removes another grain of empathy. She doesn’t feel like she cares less. Love still flows through every action and inaction, but the migraines and visions are getting worse, clearer.

Standing in a room with green curtains and remembering them as blue. Having the same conversation with different people at different places.

Waking up to a different face each day and not because of a promiscuous life style.

She’s Mad Max, age thirty making pancakes with her teenage son. Her wife’s cheeks are ruddy from the cold as she kisses her neck.

She’s Maxine, twenty two and doing a line of coke off the bathroom sink of an art gallery. The walls are littered with moody pictures of her muses, thin, pale and beautiful.

She’s Max, twenty seven and helping paint giraffes and clouds on  the walls of the new nursery.

She is so many people at once and she can’t stand it.

So, instead, she avoids her would-be lovers. Dana’s room always smells like fresh chlorophyll and her door is always open to Max. They’re spread out side by side, fingertips barely touching.

Max tries to stretch long enough to match Dana’s height, her wrists pass Dana’s crown but hit the wall instead.

“Ow.” She says without much pain.

“What are you doing, Goof?” Dana tips onto her side.

Max mirrors the position tucking herself close enough to feel Dana’s heat without migrating too close to be flirtatious.

Which is rendered moot when Dana hauls her closer with a grab of the hip. Thigh to thigh with a small gap between their stomachs and heads.

“I used to think that if I hung long enough on the monkey bars I’d get taller.” Max says.

That earns a little breathy laugh and fingers wiggling up Max’s thigh in a way she can’t judge as platonic or not.

She pats her tongue against her parted lips, having a staring contest with Dana’s exposed collarbone.

“I used to think that humans would swing from trees if they could, there were just too many buildings in the way. So I tried to fix that. We had to move a lot.” Dana says.

Her voice is oddly brittle and it invites Max’s gaze upwards.

Now she’s fallen into those blue, blue eyes and her tongue is going dry around all the words she wants to say. Instead what comes out of her mouth is,

“I’m worried that I’m going to stop feeling everything and just become this all powerful husk of who I once was. Like, what’s the point of being alive for eternity if all you feel is numb?”

Her vision blurs and Dana hushes her.

“Oh. Oh, Max. It’s gonna be okay.”

“You don’t know that. I don’t even know that and it’s my job.” Max screws up her face.

Something dry and soft is pressing against her cheek, then her brow, her nose, her chin. Her eyelashes flutter open and she feels a puff of breath on her cheek.

The kiss to the mouth catches her off guard. Just a peck to her lower lip.

“What about Trevor?” She says.

Dana pulls away.

“Sorry, I should have asked, “ She rubs her temples, “I just wanted to platonically kiss you.”

“Oh. That’s a thing?” Max’s voice is small.

“It should be.” Dana mumbles, embarrassed.

“Okay.” Max kisses the spot below Dana’s eye.

For a moment, Max is allowed to feel like she’s exactly where she’s supposed to be. Not stretched between places.

She feels like she’s in some ancient forest temple lying on a pillow of the softest moss. Nothing making a sound but the birds and their breath.

“Max.” Dana’s voice is far away.

“Mmm?”

“What’s the Prometheus Gambit?”

That wakes her up, she leans back and looks at Dana through slitted eyes.

“Where did you hear that?” Her hackles raise.

“Someone wrote it on the bathroom wall and drew a little cartoon of you with Xs for eyes.”

Max rolls over onto her back and squints at the ceiling.

“Well, that’s fantastic.”

“Like, I know Prometheus gave humans fire, but what does that have to do with a really lame X-Man?”

“It’s this stupid urban legend that you can become a god by killing them and shouting ‘Prometheus’!”

Dana’s thumb brushes over Max’s exposed hip.

“Max, that’s scary, that means someone at school is thinking about killing you to steal your powers.”

Max laughs, “I’d like to see them try. It’s such a dumb idea and most who try it end up smoking craters. It’ll be more of a giant pain in the ass if anything.”

Her tranquility is replaced by the dull throb of a memory of another life, watching a tube TV with the sound at low.

She’s helping Chloe and Victoria select body parts for the Rachelstein. This other Max must be a total pushover.

The headache does prevent her from seeing the figure by the window leave.

* * *

OK first things first I’ll eat your brains

then I’mma start rocking gold teeth and fangs

cause that’s what a motherfucking monster do

**  
**  


The campus is covered in dingy grey mist that makes trips between buildings a hazard for wet hoodies and sneakers. Max abandons all ideas of studying in the library for reading up on World War 2 history in the comfort of her own room.

And by “reading up” she watches Inglorious Basterds and eats an entire sleeve of crackers.

The knock on her door is harsh and demanding. It’s not Chloe because the door remains closed afterward.

She plucks her shorts, smoothing them out so the fabric isn’t gathered around her groin.

Victoria’s trying to look nonchalant outside her door. It’s a poor costume, seams showing in the dark circles under her eyes and chips in her nails.

“I know you don’t want anything to do with this, but we can’t do it without you.”

She knew this would come eventually, and eventually she’d be summoned back into their plan with a batting of Victoria’s eyelashes or a pout from Chloe.

With a sigh, she nods and turns off the Tarantino film.

 

Max is led to Victoria’s room. There sits the lyre, a little chipped and looking worse for wear, by no means magical. It does, however, look ancient. Wood and dried intestine, pulled taught and adorned by a carving of a cow’s head.

“Well, even if it isn’t magical, it’s still a pretty good price for a tasty vintage lyre.” She says, scratching her nose.

She sits and fiddles with it, not all stringed instruments are created equal, but no matter what universe she sits in or what song she plays, a G Major rings the same. It’s a comfort.

“Is there a specific song I’m supposed to play?”

Victoria skirts back on her rolling chair to check the instructions she’s been looking at online.

“It doesn’t say anything. I mean, in the myth, Orpheus just kind of jams from his heart.”

“Unlike Orpheus, I’m not a full time virtuoso and bohemian bum.”

Victoria and Chloe both roll their eyes at her because, fuck off, Max, you totally are.

“Just play the first thing that comes to mind then Max. At least try.”

“Alright, Ancient Greek shit, let’s do it to it. Time to Greek out with my freak out.”

The strings make little dents in her fingers as she strums. She’s warming them to make the chords flow into each other.

She honestly can’t think of anything relating to Ancient Greece that she can play, the closest she can get is Rome.

“How good are you two at chanting? Actually, hang on, I should get Kate.”

Max returns a second later with Kate in tow. Kate sits with her knees together next to Max on Victoria’s couch.

“Now, I’m sure you guys know this one, but I’m gonna need some participation. I can’t do the full octave singing like Orpheus was supposed to, so I’m gonna do my best but I need two of you to chant and one of you to harmonize. Chanters, it’s Ehu Eh Ehu. ‘Toria, you’re the best singer here, can you get the high notes?”

Victoria wriggles in her seat, pleased at being called talented in any right.

“Well, you’re a very talented singer too, you just lack my range.” She says.

Max smiles. Chloe clears her throat.

“Okay, you two can finish jerking each other off after we visit some death gods and get Rach’s soul.”

Max takes a deep breath, playing the opening notes. Chloe and Kate begin chanting the ‘Ehu’s.

“I was left to my own devicceesss.” Victoria joins her on the end using soprano.

Quiet falls over the dorm as they play. Brooke’s pressing her ear to the wall. Dana’s standing outside the room with a grin as Taylor, Stella, and Juliet join her.

Max closes her eyes and lets the music flow, unleashing a little of her power until it’s bleeding into the wood of the lyre, lighting up the eyes of the cow to a blue-white glow.

When she opens them again she is not in Victoria’s bedroom, but in a stylishly mediterranean living room.

Across from her sits a girl--no a woman, with soft green eyes and an asymmetric afro. She’s biting her lip and bobbing along to their singing. She has freckles just like Max does.

She almost fumbles a chord, but notices the demonic looking thing out on the balcony and rights her fingers. They need to finish and not be rude.

“Does it almost feel like nothing’s changed at allll?” She lets Victoria (Mariah)carry the note.

Persephone claps. Her nails are black and red.

“That was fantastic. Good show.”

Kate and Chloe seem to notice where they are and look like they’re trying very hard not to freak the fuck out. Chloe swears and joins the winged person on the balcony for a cigarette. Kate curls her legs up under her, noticing the three-headed dog snoring on a white leather sofa. Her nostrils are flaring like crazy.

Victoria is appearing relaxed, but her eyes keep flitting about.

Max returns her attention to Persephone and finds her standing before her.

“Oh my, look at you. You are a PYT, Pretty Young Thing. Godhood is going to be so interesting for you. I’ve always wondered how it goes for those of you born into the,” She finger quotes, “Modern Age. Miracles were a lot easier to perform for a credulous crowd. Nowadays you’ll have all of the Youtubes calling your wonders ‘fake and gay’.”

Victoria snorts.

The cerberus wakes up with a louder snort and comes skittering onto the tile with tiny blunt nails. One, two, three heads are trying to nose their way between Kate’s folded legs. She’s bright red and a little hairy, hackles raising.

“Shit, she’s in heat.”

A growl rumbles out of Kate’s chest, the dog’s tail is wagging and it’s trying to crawl into her lap. Max can see her pupils change and stands so fast she knocks her seat over.

Persephone is out of her chair and grabbing the dog.

“Babe! We’re gonna have a situation in here!”

“Babe” is a long limbed and androgynous looking creature with white dove wings and a body covered in burn marks. It comes ambling in with a cigarette dropping from between its thin lips.

It picks up the dog, who is pawing at the air. One head is snarling, another panting. It’s then when Max notices the horns (if you can call them horns, it’s more like there was a circle of bone that got broken in half) on the winged creature and realises.

Oh holy shit. Is that just a demon or something more? As if hearing her thoughts, it turns its head to Max and shifts its form almost instantly. Now stands a well dressed blonde person.

“I’m gonna take him for a walk.” It says through flat teeth.

“Mmkay, I’m gonna deal with this lot. Pick some figs for dinner, yeah?” Persephone tilts her head to the group.

She leans up for a kiss. It’s gentle and familiar, just a drop on the lips.

The dog is still squirming in the demon’s grasp as they leave through an ancient-looking archway.

“Somehow, I always pictured Hades looking more… brooding? Is that wrong?” Victoria says to break the silence.

Kate’s teeth are chattering and her fist is wrapped around her cross.

“That wasn’t Hades.” Kate says, her whole body shaking.

Persephone laughs awkwardly, “Uh, yeah, we got a divorce a couple thousand years ago.”

“Holy shit! Was that the fucking devil?!” Chloe drops her cigarette, “Did I just shoot the shit with Satan?!”

“Well, I mean, they prefer Eosphoros or at least Lucifer…” Persephone rubs the back of her neck, then she gets this misty look in her eyes, “My lightbringer, they clothe me in the sun.”

Kate slides from her chair to lie completely still, face down, on the stone floor.

Max looks from her to Victoria to Persephone, “She does that a lot. Shall we get down to business--”

“To defeat the huns.” Chloe finishes.

Victoria sighs through her nose.

Persephone has them follow her to the kitchen. They sit on barstools while she cracks open a box of crackers and a wheel of cheese. Wordlessly, she hands Max a leg of burnt lamb and some mead.

Max groans because places in Arcadia Bay that accommodate God tastebuds are few and far between. Human food isn’t bad, but with each passing year she can feel her palette changing. Everything is too varied, it starts to feel like ash in her mouth.

The lamb might even be more ash than meat. She tears strips off and feels her eyes roll back at the taste. She washes it down with mead.

Chloe’s stomach growls loudly and she would probably blush if she had a complexion. A reminder of how long she’s been without feeding.

Persephone looks more amused than annoyed. She rings a bell and in walks a servant with a grey pallor.

“Caught him trying to steal from my garden about five hundred years ago. He could’ve just asked, but no, he had to be rude about it. You may take your fill.”

She gestures to Chloe.

Chloe’s looking at her wide-eyed.

“What are you waiting for?” Victoria says, “You’ve been whining all week.”

“Yeah, Chloe, what happened to ‘I wish I could really hunt people down and eat them, Max’?”

“Do you want me to make him run? Would that make it easier for you?” Persephone says.

The grey man runs off in the direction of the courtyard. Chloe’s caught between need and shame. It’s amazing how quickly instinct can kick in. She’s ambling off, chasing the screaming man.

All is quiet as Victoria processes that little bit of horror she’s unleashed.

“My head feels weird.” Kate says from the floor.

“So, now that you’ve got our monster posse down and out, are you ready to deal?” Max says.

Persephone’s smile is all white teeth and black eyes and Max is sure to remember how ancient and powerful she is in comparison. One of the first gods. Kore, they called her.

“You came to bargain for a soul, but have nothing to bargain with.” She says.

Victoria rolls her eyes, “Oh come on, you wouldn’t have taken our call if you didn’t want something. We’re young but we’re not amateur negotiators. My parents taught me how to make a contract when I was like five.”

Persephone swirls her drink around, contemplative.

“I like Rachel. She’s one of those avatars who really get it, yeah? All death and daylight. Pretty flowers and creatures of the night. Innocence lost. Everything I’m about. As a vessel of Bast, I’m sure you understand the importance of strong relationship between God and host.”

Victoria’s response is an exasperated eye roll.

“The first work I make, art show, album whatever, will be in your honour,” Max says, “My worship becomes your worship.”

Persephone purses her lips and nods.

“Good offer.”

“I hear an oncoming ‘but’.” Kate says from the floor.

“Oh, has Chloe finished feeding already?” Victoria says.

Max snorts and shoves at her shoulder.

Persephone drums her nails on the counter.

“One more thing. There’s something dark, something sick and old in Arcadia Bay. I want you to kill it and sacrifice some of its power to me.”

“How much are we talking? Like twelve per cent?” Max says.

“Twenty.”

Max bites a nail and looks to Victoria for negotiation backup.

“She can do twenty. What is this thing?”

“I don’t know, but it’s poisoning the resident god. Arcadia Bay wants this thing gone. I think it’s trying to eat her.”

“That doesn’t sound good.”

“One more thing, leave me the lyre.”

“Why?”

“Call me sentimental.”

Chloe returns, still chewing, bloody handprints on her white shirt. It’s becoming an aesthetic thing of hers.

“So did we do the thing?” She says.

Persephone snaps her fingers and a pink mist collects at her fingertips. It spins around until she seals it in a mason jar of all things.

“This is Rachel’s soul jar.”

“Don’t those usually look more… ancient and powerful?” Kate says.

Persephone closes her eyes for a brief eye roll.

“The jar reflects the soul.”

“Really?”

“No. I just thought all the hipster kids were putting shit in mason jars these days.”

She shoves the jar at Max who almost drops it. Chloe and Victoria screech at her in perfect sync.

“Fine! Jeez, one of you hold it.”

Victoria can fit it in one hand. Chloe claws at her arm until she passes it over. Then she backhands Chloe, lightly.

“Pleasure doing business with you.” Persephone says.

Lucifer has pockets full of figs when they return, greeting their wife with a brisk peck to the corner of the mouth.

“Well, that certainly was exciting. Did you cut a good deal, Dearest?” Lucifer says.

“Mmhm, Light of My Life?”

“Yes, Pomegranate?”

“Why the fuck did those teenagers have Melinoe’s lyre?”

Lucifer shrugs so hard their shoulders are level with their horns, avoiding their wife’s gaze. Persephone tugs them down to eye level.

“Eo.”

“Who was I to give up a chance for a Devil’s Bargain?” They shrug.

Persephone scrunches her face up.

“They talked about how badly they needed it and agreed to meet me at the crossroads. I thought it would be a winning situation. We have the lyre back, you’re promised power from that ticking time god, and we have a stake in whatever fireworks go off in Arcadia Bay.”

The light that falls over them is a pinkish grey. Worry is making a thin line of Lucifer’s mouth.

“I’m no seer, but I know that the whole situation is looking more and more like a literal shitstorm with each move.” Persephone sighs.

“Good thing we get to watch from the sidelines then.”

**  
**  
  


The return trip feels like waking up from a nap and finding everyone’s least favourite dhampir curled up on the floor.

Victoria groans and stands too quickly, stumbling to catch herself, failing, and landing on Nathan.

He whimpers and flinches.

“Nate. Nathan, is everything okay?”

Around Nathan, all of Victoria’s hardness melts. She’s wax, not marble, turning impossibly soft as she checks his bruised face.

Max turns her head away, feeling something raw and angry clawing at her. Instead of dwelling on it, she helps Kate to her feet.

“Hey, how are you feeling?”

Kate’s smile is human, “Like I need to sort out some things.”

“I think you handled meeting the literal devil pretty well for a good Christian girl.”

Kate sighs, “I think I can see why they were God’s favourite.”

Max raises her eyebrows and Kate pinks a little. Her thumbs rub circles into the meat of her palms. It causes a hitch in her breath.

“Max, please stop touching me.” Kate’s voice shakes.

Victoria’s soothing tones and Nathan’s hiccoughs cut into the spaces between their words. Max smooths her own palms on her jeans, checking for Chloe.

She’s leaning against Victoria’s desk, Rachel’s soul jar in her hands dragging a nail down the glass.

Three intimate moments within close proximity.

“Let’s give them privacy, shall we?” Kate says, tucking an errant hair behind her ear.

Max licks her lips and nods.

“Chloe, come on.”

They edge around Nathan and Victoria to leave.

“Is Nathan okay?” Max says.

Victoria ignores her.

Feeling the invisible blow to the gut, she leaves.

* * *

The Body is laid out on a slab of green formica. The cold should have slowed all decay and killed anything still living inside. Victoria stands at the head of the table muttering to herself and looking more tired than ever.

Chloe comes to stand at her side holding a skill saw.

“I bet you’re all glad for my job at Home Depot now.” Chloe says.

“Yes, Chloe, you becoming a cartoonish caricature of queer stereotypes has benefitted us in this case.”

“Damn, Courtney, that was cold.”

“You dragged me out here to sew a cadaver together.”

“Sorry Court. I can use sewing machines, but that doesn’t really help here.”

“It’s because her sausage fingers get in the way.” Chloe stage whispers.

She groans at the slash of psychic pain Victoria just shot her. Chloe clutches her head.

“Shit, forgot you can do that.” Chloe grits her teeth.

“Quit mouthing off and get to work, before I actually make you obey.” Victoria hisses.

Chloe’s fingers twitch and she scowls before setting about with the cuts.

Taylor’s eyes are huge, “You actually cast obedience when you revived her?”

“Precaution, she might have come back wrong and tried to eat everyone.”

“I can hear you, you know.” Chloe shouts over the whine of the saw.

“Then you’re not cutting deep enough!” Victoria snaps back.

The Body is arranged like pieces of a puzzle meant to be fit together. Chloe is coated in ice chunks of gore and wiping non-sweat from her pale brow.

“Victoria, I don’t know if I can keep this up.”

“You wanted to bring her back, I’m doing my part, you do yours. Think about it this way, you get to build your own perfect Rachel doll.”

Chloe shudders. Is this what she wants? She wants Rachel back, yeah, but like this?

Anything is better than her being buried in the cold ground alone for months and no justice in sight.

Chloe takes a deep breath and makes another incision.

* * *

Sasquatch, Godzilla, King Kong

Lochness, Goblin, Ghoul, a zombie with no conscience

question what do all these things have in common

everybody knows I’m a motherfucking monster

Rachel is ready. It’s not Rachel and it is Rachel. It’s a body made of dead girls. Limbs all sewn up and brand new organs. Victoria sighs deeply. The price of life is death. Even finding a sacrifice big enough will require tremendous power. And it needs to be done quickly, because sleeping beauty’s new body won’t stay fresh for long.

The trip back to the dorms is clear for the first time in over a week. She wonders if it’s pathetic fallacy or just the effects of climate change.

Dana’s waiting for her by the utility shed with a set jaw and coated in Max’s scent. Victoria grinds her teeth and her nails bite into her palms.

“Do you have it?” She says.

Dana rolls her eyes and holds out a sealed pouch, “Yes, now this better not be for some Vortex Club orgy, I can get in so much shit for dealing.”

“It’s for a spell, but thanks for the idea.”

She goes to leave but her path is blocked by the tall ass tree dealing her incredibly rare pollen. Dana’s so nice that sometimes it’s easy to forget how big and strong she is. Victoria backs up as she’s cut through with clear eyes.

“Victoria. I don’t know what kind of dangerous shit you’re getting yourself into, but if anything happens to Max, I swear to god that you won’t get away with it.”

Victoria’s knees are knocking together but she swallows hard and puts on her best bitch face.

“Umm… first of all--bitch. Why do you care? It’s not like she’s your girlfriend or something.”

Dana Ward smirking like an anime villain might actually be more pants-shittingly terrifying than her threats.

“She’s not, but she could be, Victoria. And I know how much you’d hate that.”

Victoria bares her teeth because it’s all she can do. Her eyes are coated in a thin film of tears, because Dana’s right. It would be so easy for her. She’s seen the easy hand holding and lingering cheek kisses between the two. Dana may be dating that Sasquatch, Trevor, but it’s highschool and relationship bonds are as flimsy as computer paper.

“Are you seriously threatening to fuck Max if I get her in trouble?” Victoria laughs hysterically.

Dana puts both hands on the wall, trapping Victoria for a second before pushing off. The storm clouds clear from her expression, leaving a sunny smile.

“Of course not! I would date the shit out of Max. I’d carry her camera equipment, pick her up between classes, greet her with a kiss, make slow and gentle love to her, and take her to every school event and spend the entire night making sure she’s happy.”

The Dana is gone, heading back to the dorm with arms swinging and whistling a tune.

Victoria’s nerves are seriously shot to hell. She slides down against the wall and lets out a shaky breath. Her thumbs keep skating across the wrong keys as she fires out a text to Nathan.

‘hey Nate Dawg, how r u feeling? wanna blaze? i am so exhausted with life rn.’

His response is immediate.

‘cum 2 my dorm sweet stuff. i just rolled a phat blunt.’

‘kk’

* * *

Nathan’s room always makes her feel like she’s in some kind of art film. His bed, however, is the comfiest bed in the history of bed’s. She can feel his eyes on her as her lips pucker around the joint. She holds it out, an offering to him and keeps her lips an ‘O’ before blowing out a trio of rings.

“I need you to help me lure a deer to the dorms.” She says.

Nathan doesn’t take the offered blunt and she turns to look at him. He’s popping a pair of pills with water instead.

“Nate, aren’t you going to have some?”

“Yeah. I just, uh, the THC apparently makes me get violent, so I’m waking before I bake.”

“No fucking way. Pot makes you violent?”

“It also makes me happy and feel like I can sleep, but yeah, new doctor told me.”

“You got a new doctor?” She’s up on her side looking at him.

“‘s no big deal.” He absently touches the bruise under his eye.

She almost bowls him over with a hug, the lit blunt falling onto the bedspread.

“Jesus, Toria! Watch out!” He pats the spot, burning his hand, but snuffing out the fire.

He winces as the charred flesh heals to a pale scar. Victoria kisses the spot.

“I’m sorry. I’m just so happy that you’re gonna be okay.”

Her arms are around his shoulders. He tips his head to hers eyes focused on nothing at all.

“I’ll bring you a deer.” He says.

“You aren’t gonna ask what I need it for?”

He shrugs, “I’m sure whatever you’re doing is worth it.”

She flashes a watery smile as she relights the joint.

“It’s so worth it.”

For once she feels like that isn’t a lie.

* * *

I crossed the line

and I’ll let God decide

I wouldn’t last these shows

so I am headed home

They end up recruiting Kate to carry The Body. She’s about as morally and physically disgusted as would expect.

“This is what you’ve been up to?!” She turns on Victoria and Chloe with her face elongating.

Chloe gets into her ‘woah, we’ve got a badass here’ stance and Victoria folds her arms.

“You didn’t get all high holy and morally superior when we revived Chloe.”

Kate’s hackles lower, “Yeah, but, this has been months. You made her out of other dead people. Their loved ones will be hurt by this.”

“They were scheduled for cremation anyway.” Victoria lies.

Well, it would be a lie at the time, they will be scheduled for cremation now. Not technically a full lie.

Kate grumbles, not unlike a sassy bulldog, before approaching the defrosted Rachel. She bends with her knees and lifts her like she weighs nothing.

“How am I supposed to move her without being seen?” She says.

Chloe points to herself.

“Chloe Price, human distraction at your service.”

“This sounds like a stupid and terrible idea. I hope Max is standing by to undo this.”

“I’m sure that won’t be necessary.” Chloe waves a hand.

**  
**  


David Madsen is yelling and chasing his step-daughter as she terrorizes Blackwell’s fields by riding a flaming bicycle. All one hundred eyes fixed on her. He wonders what he did to deserve this, with a quick check, he remembers and feels a little ashamed and a lot annoyed.

“Chloe! Don’t make me call the cops!” He yells.

“Try and catch me alive coppa!”

**  
**  


Pushing a dead body through a window is more difficult than one would assume. Kate’s shifted to give herself a height advantage, but the smell of meat on the verge of decay has her nose watering and her senses too sharp.

That and the tasty smelling doe tied up next to Victoria’s room. It’s overwhelming.

Victoria and Max haul Rachel in with a final tug, knocking over a few of Victoria’s collectable figurines. She squawks. Kate can hear Max telling Victoria to ‘chill’, but her eyes are fixed on the treeline. Something feels funny. Like she’s being watched.

These woods are full of shadows, she reminds herself, and shifts back before rounding the dorms. Chloe is sprinting across the lawn with David picking up speed behind her.

Kate decides to stay out of it and let one of the magic users handle it.

Chloe makes it to the dorms, but David grabs her arm.

“Get offa me, Man!” She jabs one of the eyes on his hand. He grunts and hauls her backward.

One moment Kate is watching that, the next David is walking in the opposite direction and talking to his walkie-talkie. Max stands at the door, air around her feeling torn and smelling of ozone.

“Thanks, Sistah, you saved my bacon from the pig.” Chloe says.

“We’re ready to start.” Max says.

**  
**  


The ingredients for Rachel’s resurrection are more elaborate than Chloe’s, the procedure is the same though.

They stand in a circle, holding hands and channeling their intent and energy into Victoria’s spell. Max’s eyes and mouth begin to glow. The air whips around like a tornado. Blue light pours out of her and spills into Rachel. A yellow light is seeping from Victoria, but it’s a weak beam in comparison to Max, who is like a miniature sun.

Rachel’s mouth opens and Chloe hastily uncaps the mason soul jar. It’s stickier than a gas and actually needs to be dumped out. It sinks in.

Kate feels suddenly very exhausted. The wind in the room begins to slow, petals scattered from the flowers on Rachel’s body settling at her fingertips.

Then everything is too still, like the quiet after Max alters time.

No one breathes as they watch the girl’s body.

Kate’s eyes flick to Max and Victoria, both are hemorrhaging badly. Victoria’s hands look like they’re burning in Max and Chloe’s grasps.

A groan and she looks down to see Rachel’s eyes opening.

Chloe drops to her knees.

Rachel Amber is alive.

 


	4. Interlude With a Vampire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something something about giving Rachel agency in her own death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I first started writing aasb, I did short bits that worked well. Trying to make big bits that I wasn't satisfied with crippled me. Here's the bit that's been sitting in my drive for seven months, I'm working on the rest. Thanks for being patient.
> 
> Warnings for:  
> Body dysphoria  
> Dubious consent  
> Nathan being Nathan

_To better you, to better me_   
_My bitter half has bitten me_   
_It's better than you, it's better than me_   
_Sleeping with my enemy_   
_Myself_   
_Myself_   
  
_The pieces of Jennifer's body_   
_Found pieces of Jennifer's body_

 

The pool in the Amber’s back yard is one of the few extravagances the family has. A remnant of the previous owner left abandoned to the elements. She helped her dad fix and maintain the thing. It became ‘Rachel’s Pool’. Since she was a girl, Rachel dreamed of being a mermaid. Something about Ariel’s struggle to be a part of a world that seemed out of reach really spoke to her three year old brain.

 

She never thought the whole chasing strange men to her ultimate undoing, making deals with gods, and dying parts of the story would be almost prophetic. However, she’s back for a surprise fourth act.

 

Divinity.

 

Dying, so far as her experience goes, is probably the shittiest thing to have happened in her short life. Second place is sex with Mark Jefferson, third is either food poisoning from Taco Bell, or accidentally overdosing (heroin, never again) and waking up to an adrenaline needle sticking out of her chest and Frank screaming.

 

At the time it just made her feel closer to Kurt Cobain’s spirit, but in hindsight that was probably a warning sign.

 

She’s never claimed to be good at knowing when to quit.

 

Which brings her to the here and now on some half-baked idea smoked up with her favourite undead person while the two were griping about their lives and watching The Road to El Dorado of all things.

 

“Being gods would be awesome.” She said.

 

Her head was on Nathan’s chest, a place it often ended up. She loves him and that’s weird, because Nathan is the first person to admit that he’s hard to love(which is fucking tragic), and because love is a cage. It traps you and keeps you tethered with obligation. Stuck. Love is the opposite of freedom.

 

Which is probably why she ‘gives’ love freely to those who need it. Rachel with her sunny smiles and endless patience. Rachel who will listen to anyone who has a word to say and agree and laugh and pose for all the photos.

 

She’s not sure if the misanthrope or the ingenue is the fake at this point any more. Maybe both and she’s the mass of grey between them.

 

Where was she?

 

Oh yes, The Road the El Dorado. Nathan’s house. Coming down off a mushroom trip and knowing cartoons are the ticket to winding down. Slumped against each other while he texted Victoria. Nathan’s always messaging Victoria. Even if they’re just snapchatting each other increasingly ugly selfies or cat videos.

 

“Being gods would be awesome.” She slurred against his shirt.

 

His fingers wound their way into her hair.

 

“I think that’s the opposite of the message of this movie.” He said.

 

“So, let’s be gods, the perks are great! El Dorado on a plate!” She mimicked their voices.

 

Nathan laughed.

 

“There aren’t many gods in Arcadia Bay, well, except Arcadia Bay is a god.”

 

She tipped back to look at him, everything feeling fuzzy.

 

“Really? I feel like I should know that.”

 

“Mmmhm, Dad told me. She’s kind of powerless most of the time, but the town barrier, weird weather, talking animals. All her influence.”

 

“Huh. And she doesn’t mind avatars running around on her?”

 

“Location gods are pretty chill. Except when they’re not. Then they become hellmouths and shit. You know--” He waves his arms around with that manic look in his eyes “--haunted asylums filled with dead crazies and retards like me!”

 

It was weird, she got off him, because she could feel their trip turning sour, so she did the only thing she knew worked. Distracted him.

 

“So, what other gods live in the area?”

 

“A few of the Native gods, but they keep out of white people’s business because we’re annoying, but you probably already know about those.”

 

“Yeah, Dude this is a good batch of shrooms.”

 

“And there’s this time god who used to live here with her kid. Think they moved to Maine. What, no, shit.”

 

He sat up and rubbed his face, sniffing deeply.

 

“The daughter was only a skin walker, but she had a daughter who had to leave town because she started tearing holes in reality or some shit. That brings the number back to like… three.” His eyes unfocused again.

 

“How fucking sweet would that be? Tearing holes in time and space. All that power. I gotta sacrifice like three hamsters in order to make a bonfire. It’s bullshit.”

 

“So you wanna be gods?” He said.

 

“It’s worth looking into. There’s nothing else in this town but rot.”

 

He woofed.

 

Realising the pun, she elbowed him, “Yes, you, Rott.”

 

They laughed it off at the time, but the topic came up more and more. The Prometheus Gambit was ruled out quickly, both being too weak to take on a god, and the lack of documented success.

 

Worship in one’s own lifetime was a viable option, but the powers that came with it weren’t enough. Just a little flash, no real substance.

 

Hunger would be her downfall. But, it did lead to her salvation, so the ends did justify the means.

 

“The Yeshua Gambit.” She said.

 

Nathan’s skipping of his meds had him lacking in any facial expression, but his voice read as confused and annoyed.

“We’ve been over it. There’s no safe way to do it, and death isn’t worth the risk.”

 

She slammed her hand on the table, “Death is the cost of any real power. Occupational hazard Nathan. Come on!”

 

The memory is more vivid now than it was while she lived. It’s strange, she expected the dulling of the senses brought on by being undead. Lack of taste and smell, poor daytime eyesight and lack of sensitivity to touch. But, if anything, the world is brighter, more delicious, and softer. Water swishes around her limbs as if to emphasize.

 

Past the haze of liquid she sees him standing on the shaded edge of the pool, he’s nude and thank gods her parents aren’t home because they would probably flip.

 

She doesn’t break for air when she emerges in front of him.

 

“Where are your pants?” She says.

 

“How long have you been lying on the bottom of the pool?” He says.

 

“I feel like my question is more pressing.” She says, eyeing fresh scratches on his thighs.

 

“I’ve been camping out with Caulfield for the past week. As a cat--she hasn’t had me locked up as a naked love slave.” He says.

 

“Pity.” Rachel whispers.

 

He sits on the edge of the pool. Rachel grabs his calf and tugs him towards the water.

 

“Does she suspect anything?”

 

“Only that I’ve been using her plant as a litter box--which I haven’t for the record.”

 

“Mmhm.” She’s not really listening anymore because he’s naked and she’s wet and this whole… dysphoria that comes with a body that is mostly not hers is something new to test.

 

She can’t touch herself, but maybe she can touch him.

 

He slips into the water with her and she tries to generate enough heat for the both of them. He reaches between her legs and she suddenly feels that claustrophobic pressure, like she’s still trapped underground and there are worms crawling all over her.

 

“I can’t. I’m sorry. I can’t.” She’s shoved him away, but he had already stopped touching her.

 

“We don’t have to do anything. I didn’t want to do anything.”

 

“Jesus, Nathan, then why did you let me?!”

 

“Because I wanted you to feel better.”

 

“Letting me assault you isn’t going to make me feel better.” She pushes her hair away from her face and hauls herself out.

 

“I don’t know how to make you feel better.” He says.

 

“Just… come with me.”

 

It’s a damn shame that he actually looks better in her jeans than she does. That’s a lie, her ass is legendary, but his is pretty thick for a skinny guy.

 

He picks out one of her band tees and looks like a modern Paul Newman. Rachel sighs, looking at her own mismatched limbs.

 

“I never thought it would come to this.” She hugs herself.

 

Nathan reaches for her.

 

“Hey, hey, you’re still Rachel Amber. You’re still the most beautiful, amazing piece of ass this town has ever seen. You and me, we’re still gonna take those fuckers by the balls and give them testicular torsion!”

 

Rachel rubs her forehead, clearly avoiding saying something along the lines of ‘please, stop talking’.

 

Nathan jams his hands in his jacket pockets.

 

“See? This is why I’ve been staying a cat. People forget they hate me.”

 

She sighs and pulls him in for a hug, his arms still tucked between them. A sniffle against her ear has her pulling his hands out from his pockets and onto her back.

 

“I was lost, I needed you to be there and help me and you weren’t and it was all my fault.” He whimpers.

 

“Shhhh… Nathan.”

 

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

 

“You’re so beautiful.” She says.

 

He just swallows and looks at the ground, “I’m tired.” He says.

  
The sky turns a shade of purple along the horizon outside. They listen to her old grunge albums and the fading bird song while he feeds from her arm. The arm that’s still hers.


	5. better than chocolate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Local woman wins dissociation Olympics.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Blows the dust off this series* Hey gang. Anyone who's still here, welcome back. It's been a few years and I'm feeling a lot less edgy these days, so aasb is gonna be a bit more wholesome from here on out.
> 
> Minor lore retcon, I went with making Warren a faun instead of a shadow. Other stuff may change from what I said before. I've changed my mind on some things.
> 
> Oh, except for the big old sex scene in this chapter. You can see why I've been sitting on this part for so long.
> 
> (Hint, it rhymes with 'dandom fiscourse'.)
> 
> Thanks to Caduceator for motivating me to continue and finish this.

_ I died _

_ So many years ago _

_ But you can make me feel _

_ Like it isn't so _

_ And why you come to be with me _

_ I think I finally know _

_ Mmm-mmm _

 

_ You're scared _

_ Ashamed of what you feel _

_ And you can't tell the ones you love _

_ You know they couldn't deal _

_ Whisper in a dead man's ear _

_ It doesn't make it real _

 

* * *

 

Big chains haven’t invaded Arcadia Bay because it’s hard to start a business in a town that doesn’t exist.

 

Earl’s is the local grocery. All of the floors are worn white tile and the prices listed in black handwriting. The shelves are sturdy brown wood serving brands from Poland, Italy, and any brand that can be bought bulk at Costco and loaded onto a truck. It employees the high schoolers as bag boys and weekend cashiers. It is, unfortunately, Saturday. That means that goat-legged mouth breather from Blackwell is using his position to turn every girl in line into a captive audience.

 

Frank looks balefully at the other registers. All but one is closed and that one has two moms with full carts. He doesn’t know which is going to be faster at this point.

 

The door tinkles and his nostrils flare. The girl walking in reeks of pheromones. Her blonde hair is piled on top of her head and she’s wearing loose, modest clothing. It doesn’t hide that she’s a bitch in heat, no matter how low she ducks her head.

 

He wrinkles his nose. There’s something off-putting about something designed to put him… on….

 

Part of him hopes it’s because she’s so young, but she’s probably invited to the same parties Rachel is, so he can’t take the moral high ground on not having sex with teenage girls.

 

That’s not it. There’s a familiarity about her. That could just be her saving him last month. He’s never been into dominant women. It’s just a sex thing, he’s not looking to bully his future wife around.

 

He’s trying to stare at her out of the corner of his eye as to not outright ogle. What is it about her?

 

She pushes the sleeves of her sweater up to her elbows and his gut drops.

 

There’s a bite scar on her forearm and wrist. His eyes dart to her exposed legs and the matching bite on her ankle.

 

Revulsion roils over him in waves. He’s tried to scrub that day from his mind for years. He’s lived a lot of lows, but that was rock bottom.

 

He knows where to look for bites on her body because he put them there. He put his pack and the whole town in danger. All for some bloody revenge on the man who abandoned him.

 

Turns out his father didn’t even know.

 

And, irony and proximity of paranormal hotspots being what they are, it makes sense that he’d have to face his half-sister and what he did to her.

 

He just never thought that he’d already owe her a life debt.

 

“Cash or credit?” Mouthbreather says.

 

Frank sets down his hypoallergenic dog food and can of ravioli.

 

“Cash.” He sighs.

 

* * *

  
  


The dry heat of late September has bled into October mist. The street lamps lining the highway flicker before settling on the halogen orange. Frank feels his frown dig into the corners of his mouth.

 

There are humans too close to the town line. Fucking tourists or mushroom pickers searching the woods for a bigfoot sighting or their next high.

 

Idiots, the farm fields are where you find psilocybin, all these woods have are chanterelles and puffballs. 

 

He zips his leather jacket up to the throat and dons his tuque before letting Pompidou out. Pompidou bounds down the stairs and pauses once outside, sniffing the air and growling.

 

Frank tests the air himself. There’s something bad on the wind.

 

Just makes this trip more worth it. As much as he hates asking the old lady for favours, his hand’s been forced.

 

Wet brown leaves make the trail slippery and smell of decay. Autumn always smells like death in different shades, but the freshness is a welcome change from summer smoke. His toe claws stretch against the leather of his boots. Might be worth a run through the brush later if they can have a quick meeting.

 

He gets a fresh whiff of that weird smell and pauses.

 

At the head of the trail stands a man in black with a camera strapped around his neck. He turns around to see Frank and Pompidou and raises a hand in greeting.

 

Shit. A growl builds in Pompidou’s chest. Frank goes still.

 

“Excuse me! Can you point me towards the beach?” The man says.

 

He’s coming closer and it’s fight or flight. Frank puffs up his chest.

 

“Hey man, you know you can’t be here.” Frank plays it cool.

 

The man’s close enough for Frank to see a charming, if sheepish smile. His clothes and camera look expensive, but he hasn’t shaved in a few days.

 

“You caught me. I’ve heard the wildlife out here is beautiful… and well, there’s something so appealing about a seaside ghost town.” He says.

 

The hair on Pompidou’s neck is standing straight up. Frank feels just as rankled.

 

“It’s dangerous. Wildfires and clearcuts made the soil unstable. It’s just asking for landslides and sinkholes.” Frank lights a cigarette to calm himself and appear nonchalant.

 

“Gotta keep that sacred land protected.” The man says.

 

His voice is laced with sympathy, but his glasses are too fogged up to see his eyes. Frank wonders if the other man can hear his heart beating a tattoo against his ribs.

 

“I’m sorry. I’m taking up your time. I’ll try and get some pictures from the road. Thanks.” The man says.

 

“Get out.” Frank says, shouldering past the man.

 

Pompidou sticks close to his side. Frank veers left, taking the path towards the beach instead of heading to his intended destination. Like hell he’ll visit Her while there’re muggles sniffing around the woods.

 

Frank shoulder checks for the man to see he’s missing, but notices that they were standing at where the two paths diverged. Crossroads. Great. He walks faster.

 

The sight of the sea makes him sigh. There’s a relief in seeing the grey rocks stretching into grey sea. Pompidou starts wagging again and bounding down the hill.

 

Frank catches the scent that has Pompidou excited. A silver shape leaning on a log twists its body at Pompidou’s bark. It responds with a bark of its own.

 

Frank jogs the rest of the way to see Pompidou wagging on his way to the galumphing harbour seal. The seal sniffs Pompidou’s nose. Pompidou licks the seal.

 

“Hey Ryan.” Frank huffs from the lip above the beach.

 

Watching a selkie shed his skin looks like someone crawling out of a silk sleeping bag. He’s a little jealous that the process is so much less painful than going wolf. Frank averts his gaze from the older man’s nudity. Pompidou loses interest and trots off towards the waves.

 

“Frank, you look rattled.” Ryan says.

 

Ryan’s spotted coat manifests as freckles on his pale skin. His hair is light brown and thin, a buzz cut growing out. His beard isn’t much thicker, but his arms, legs, and chest are covered in a fine coat of fuzz.

 

“Some human taking pictures in the woods.” Frank says, tucking his head into his neck.

 

“How’d he get past the veil?” Ryan says.

 

He’s got his skin wrapped around his shoulders as he produces jeans and a sweater from behind a log.

 

“Dunno, the barrier’s been thin lately. Something’s off with the lady downstairs.” Frank says.

 

“Got any ideas?” Ryan zips up his jeans and Frank can look at him again.

 

“I got attacked in the woods by some black tentacle… thing last full moon. Barely made it out alive. Probably didn’t. Lucked out that the local demigod happened to be having a picnic in the meadow that night.” There’s an accusation in his voice that he fails to keep out.

 

Ryan’s brow wrinkles at that.

 

“Max was there?” He says.

 

“She and her posse from the school,” Frank say, “Getting into more trouble probably.”

 

“I haven’t been able to keep that girl out of trouble since she was delivered to me in an oyster shell.” Ryan sighs.

 

His face disappears into the thick wool of his sweater. He folds his skin up like a fitted sheet in quick motions that make Frank’s head spin. The skin is placed in a leather satchel that Ryan pulls a bottle of water out of in the same motion. He offers Frank a sip. Frank shakes his head. Ryan takes a few hard gulps.

 

“I’m heading into town anyway, I’ll ask her about it there.” Ryan says.

 

“Don’t take the trail or the road. That human’s still around and he gives me a bad vibe.” Frank says.

 

“Thanks for the tip. Take it easy, Frank.” Ryan says. 

 

“Yeah, you too.” Frank says.

 

He whistles for Pompidou, who comes bounding back with a piece of driftwood too big for his mouth. His neck is tipped to one side as he drags it across the beach.

 

“Pompidou, no. You’re gonna hurt yourself.” Frank tries to prise it from his dog’s mouth.

 

Pompidou shakes his head, then drops it onto the sand. His tongue is bleeding from a huge cut given by the driftwood. He wags expectantly.

 

“I’m not throwing it.” Frank turns back towards the woods.

 

He sniffs the air. That rotten stench has lessened. It should be safe enough to visit the sacred grounds.

 

The amount of fairy rings increase the closer he gets to the centre of the woods. Pompidou has found a smaller stick to carry, and even he knows to avoid the mushroom circles.  The treeline thickens and all of the trunks here are wider. Even if he cranes his neck, Frank can’t see the top. It’s quiet here, like all the birds are whispering.

 

He feels too noisy with his boots crunching sticks and leaves. The ground starts to tilt downward in a ravine. At its bottom, a pool of clear, blue water. Big rocks jut from the ground surrounding the pond. Frank slides down the loose soil by digging his heels in and stopping himself on rocks before he can eat shit. He takes small steps down to the water.

 

Frank takes out his switchblade and pricks his finger. He raises his finger above the pool and lets his blood drip into the blue water.

 

The blood swirls until it forms the features of an old woman.

 

“Francis Bowers. What do you want?” Says Arcadia Bay.

 

“I’m just here to help.”

 

* * *

  
  


Humming ‘What’s New Pussycat’, Max pushes open her door and lets gravity slide her bag off her shoulder. She rubs her neck with the heel of her palm. Surveying the room, Max sees a story play out.

 

Window open. Lisa chewed on. Water bottle on its side, capped at least, and on the floor. Patch of sunlight on her bed, currently occupied by the prime suspect.

 

“Nathan, what the fuck?” She says.

 

He rolls onto his back, showing his tummy and purrs. Max may be a demigod, but she’s still only human. She drops to her knees and runs her fingers over the exposed belly.

 

“Leave my plant alone you dick.” She pinches him.

 

He folds in half, attacking her with sharp teeth. One knicks her knuckle and his sharp tongue darts out to lap at the blood. Max bites her lip at the sensation. The rasping of a cat tongue isn’t something to get aroused at, but the nebulous status of their relationship is hurtling towards its breaking point.

 

For example, she wouldn’t let human form Nathan roll around in her bed naked and bite her fingers, let alone rub his tummy for it, but cat Nathan bypasses her boundaries.

 

“It wasn’t me. The squirrels have been getting into your room. They’ve been acting crazy as shit.” He says.

 

Her brain still doesn’t really compute the whole ‘cat mouth making human voice thing’ so she just blinks at him before saying,

 

“Sure, blame the squirrels.”

 

“Fine.” He jumps off the bed, shifting form as he does so.

 

Now he’s standing buck assed naked before her. That’s when she notices some of his clothes folded on her couch.

 

“Jesus! Warn a girl.” Max covers her eyes.

 

“Come on, Max, don’t be such a pussy over seeing my dick.” Nathan turns around giving her an eyeful.

 

The blood in her body doesn’t know which way to flood, her face and ears feel hot, but there’s a hard-to-ignore pounding between her legs.

 

“How the frick did you get enough blood for an erection?” She squeaks.

 

“Been drinking your tampons like teabags.” He says.

 

Max gags. He gives her a looking daring her to call ‘bullshit’.

 

“Ugh! Gross! Why are you so gross?” She throws a shirt at him.

 

The shirt sticks to his face and Nathan leans his head forward to get it to fall off. It drifts to the floor.

 

“Come on, are you gonna help me with this chubby or not?” He says.

 

He’s feigning confidence with a cocked hip and folded arms. Max scrunches up her face to try and keep her eyes on his, but they keep darting down pale skin and wispy hair to a delicate pink head.

 

She has half a mind to. The other half would get up and leaves with a click of the door. Then she’d ban him from her bedroom and stop leaving the windows open. Maybe she’d take up knitting and invite Kate out for tea.

 

This is not that half.

 

“Hhhhhhhhwhythefucknot.” Max gives up.

 

Which is how she ends up pulling her shirt over her shoulders. Nathan’s eyes widen. Looks like she successfully called his bluff. There’s a moment of internal struggle on his features.

 

“Prescott, are you gonna throw down or nah?” Max says.

 

She’s reaching for the button of her jeans and his hands replace hers at the zipper.

 

“Just making sure you aren’t gonna wuss out.” He says with a shaky voice.

 

He looks human close up and it’s fucking with her perception of reality. Max isn’t sure how to start this whole… sex thing. She settles for kissing his bottom lip. He flinches, pauses, then leans in for a full mouthed kiss.

 

“Do you have a condom?” She says.

 

“Dhampirs are sterile, duh.” He says.

 

“Yeah, but you also roll around in dead things and the sewer. Don’t want whatever medieval diseases you have rotting my cooch off.” Max laughs nervously.

 

Nathan sighs and moves to leave.

 

“Wait!” Max grabs him and pulls him closer.

 

“Dana gave me some… I guess she was right about me needing them soon. I should really thank her. She’s the safe sex watchdog Abstinence Only Education needs.” Max digs under her bed for the sheet of condoms Dana gave her.

 

She opens the package with steady hands and holds the slippery latex between her fingers. It smells like hospital gloves, but sweeter and she folds the corners of her mouth. Nathan laughs.

 

“You look like you just put your finger through a dog shit bag.” He says.

 

“Shut up and put it on before I change my mind!” Her face feels hot.

 

Nathan makes some grumbles about how ‘raw dogging feels better for everybody’ under his breath and Max pointedly ignores it.

 

He pushes her legs apart to stand between them and laughs at the pattern on her underwear. Max’s face is still warm and she opens her mouth to say something, but he starts massaging her and kissing her neck.

 

Thus, she ends up with her legs trapping his waist while he thrusts into her hard enough to knock books off her shelves.

 

The yipping noise she’s making is kind of embarrassing. She was under the impression that first times were supposed to be short and disappointing. He’s grinning as he runs the tips of his teeth over her collar and shoulders. Max presses one hand against the wall, the other grips his trapezius. He keeps pulling out to rub his length along her folds and it’s honestly so amazing. She sends up a mental shout out to (probably Rachel Amber) whoever taught this goblin how to be good at The Sex.

 

“I still like you better as a cat.” She says.

 

“Yeah, yeah.” He groans, leaning back and taking her into his lap.

 

He’s not very well balanced though, so they go toppling backwards with an undignified ‘oof’ and almost off the bed.

 

“Dumbass.” Max huffs.

 

Nathan’s looking up at her with wide eyes and she notes their position.

 

“You like being on the bottom, don’t you Prescott?” Max whispers, taking a bite of his ear.

 

He whimpers. She grins against the flesh.

 

Max grabs both of his wrists and push them together so she can grip them with one hand. His breath catches. There’s this fresh rush of wetness at seeing him meek and powerless beneath her.

 

“You like that, don’t you? Little slut.” She whispers.

 

“Yes Mistress.” He squeaks.

 

Max’s eyebrows dart up at that. Okay. Not unwanted but still pretty weird.

 

It’s not like she didn’t know he was a living, breathing person, but he’s always been more like a living statue in her mind. He’s not, he’s pliable flesh lying nude before her. She can hurt him with sharp enough words or claws. His chest is heaving and his eyes are soft and unguarded. The look he’s giving her is too much. She doesn’t want to think about what this means.

 

“Tell me this means nothing to you.” Max says.

 

“It’s just sex.” He says without a struggle.

 

His little pink nipples draw her attention. Max attacks them with her mouth. Nathan hums deep in his chest and breathes out in little whiny puffs.

 

She travels lower, licking his navel along the way before taking him into her mouth. She expected him to taste like… dead or bloody, but it’s just like salty skin with a bit of her own taste.

 

“Holy shit.” He gasps.

 

He lasts an annoyingly long time because her jaw is getting sore and the power trip is losing its appeal as he leaks down the back of her throat. Fuck it. She crawls up onto her knees to mount him with an annoyed huff.

 

“What does it take to get you off?” She says.

 

Nathan opens his eyes to look up at her.

 

“Uh… ahegao.” He says.

 

“What?” Max says.

 

“Like… stick your tongue out and cross your eyes because I’m fucking you so hard.” Nathan mumbles.

 

Max blows out a breath and gets off him. She goes through a face journey of confusion, realization, disgust, and finally acceptance. Why is she doing this again?

 

“Fffine. What position is best for that.”

 

She humours him and to his credit, he does find the right spot to thrust hard against. It gets to the point where she actually isn’t trying to make weird faces, but is actually panting with a little drool gathering at the corner of her mouth. She opens her eyes to see Nathan looking down at her with his slitted eyes and slack lips.

 

“You’re so warm.” He hisses into her neck.

 

This was a bad idea. Horny Max cannot be trusted.

 

She tries kissing him so she has an excuse to not make eye contact. His mouth still tastes like pennies, but there’s a lewd enjoyment of it.

 

He slams his hips into hers a few more time and whimpers her name when he comes. It’s lukewarm as it splashes onto her stomach.

 

Max pushes him off, reaching for a tissue from her desk. Nathan lifts her legs up to her chest and settles to clean her with his tongue. She moans through her nose, still sensitive.

 

“You’re fucking gross.” She pants.

 

“Not my fault you have shit taste, Cockfield.” Nathan says before pushing his tongue further into her.

 

Max cries out. He rolls her nipples with one hand while the other uses his thumb to polish her clit.

 

“Yesss. Fuck.” Her hands rake through his hair.

 

Nathan flicks his tongue against her folds and slides it down over her perineum to brush against her ass. Max shrieks, legs kicking at the air.

 

“Someone’s sensitive.” He teases, fingers moving to curl inside her.

 

“Fuck. You!” She throws her arm over her red face.

 

He builds the pressure up inside of her to a breaking point, then pushes even further. Her hips and legs are shaking when she comes down. She feels wet and gross. Her eyes are hesitant to open. When she does, she sees Nathan with his head resting on her pelvis looking like the cat that ate the canary.

 

“You’re a squirter.” He sing-songs.

 

“Shut up.” Is all she can manage to say.

 

“I’d ask if it was good for you, but I know it was.”

 

“Nathan, I will take pictures of you  in Holiday themed cat clothes and send them to all of our peers as postcards if you tell anyone about this.” She groans.

 

Nathan laughs, “Way you were wailing  just told the whole floor that someone finally got under your mom jeans.” 

 

Max closes her eyes again and lets her head hit the pillow.

 

“Fuck off.” She says.

 

Wet lips brush her cheek, she rolls her eyes and grabs his chin to give him an open mouthed kiss.

 

“You have my number.” Nathan says.

 

“Get out of here before I come to my senses.” She shoves him away.

 

Nathan hums ‘What’s New Pussycat’ as he gets dressed. He plucks the T-Shirt she threw at him off the floor and gives it a glance.

 

It has a trio of humpback whales on it with the caption, ‘Whale, Whale, Whale!’ He curls his lip. Caulfield is such a basic nerd thot. He still puts the shirt on. It falls tight around his shoulders and rides up over his stomach if he lifts his arms. It’s a perfect sex trophy.

 

He leaves the girls dorm in human form for the first time in weeks. The front doors slam behind him.

 

* * *

 

Dana pauses mid-sentence hearing the slam. She glances through the window to see Nathan Prescott strutting down the path back towards the boy’s dorms. She turns down the 90’s pop she had been blaring prior. Juliet was having really loud sex with Zachary down the hall and now the whole dorm was flooded with different ‘My Neighbour Is Fucking’ mixes.

 

“Isn’t it a little too… daylight for Nathan to be walking around outside.” Dana says.

 

“Hell if I know.” Max says.

 

Max is slumped on her stomach over Alyssa’s back. It’s a warm spot just behind her wings that Max is applying maximum scritches to. Alyssa makes some deeply pleased sighs.

 

“So, what happened to that sex pollen Victoria made you smuggle in for a spell?” Alyssa says turning her reptilian head to Dana.

 

“Oh. Yeah. I got rid of it safely. Knowing this school, someone would’ve stolen it for a roofie.” Dana says.

 

She goes back to fixing her rollerskates, twisting the tiny screwdriver to reattach the lost wheel.

 

“Huh, feels like that was gonna be more significant somehow.” Alyssa rumbles.

 

“Probably was in another world.” Max says.

 

She slides her phone out of her pocket and opens a text from Chloe asking if she wants to go for a drive. Max ignores it and opens Facebook. She likes a meme that Brooke posted. She scrolls down further and sees a ‘Did You Know? Fact!’.

 

_ Did you know: The Prometheus Gambit is what happens when you kill a god and yell ‘Prometheus’. This will grant you the god’s powers. _

 

Max snorts.

 

“What?” Alyssa turns to look at her.

 

“Just this stupid urban legend about the Prometheus Gambit. They say that if you kill a god and yell ‘Prometheus’ you’ll get god powers. Not how it works at all.” Max says.

 

“Isn’t Prometheus the guy who supposedly gave humans fire?” Dana sets her fixed rollerskate down and stands up, brushing her knees off.

 

“Yeah. The name would make more sense if you gave ants the power of fire.” Max says.

 

Alyssa produces the smallest flame from her mouth, “Like this?”

 

“Hell yeah. Newest god Alyssa. What are you god of?” Max says.

 

“Bad smut fiction.” Alyssa says.

 

“Nice!” Dana holds a hand out for a high five.

 

Alyssa has to shift her weight to lift up a clawed foot to high five. She delivers it and Max is pretty sure she can hear wood splinter. Her own equilibrium is thrown off and Max slides to the floor in a heap.

 

“Oh.” She says.

 

Max’s breath comes in sharply and she feels the universe pulling at the seams. Something ancient and loud is calling her. In her mind she hears a train thundering near. The squeak and snap of a metal door closing. A gunshot.

 

“Something bad is happening.” Max sits up.

 

“Where?” Dana says.

 

She’s already on her feet, so she grabs her sneakers and slides her feet into them, using an index finger to tuck her heels in.

 

“Everywhere.” Max says. 

 

“That’s vague.” Alyssa says.

 

Alyssa makes no move to get up. From Max’s experience, dragons don’t like putting in the effort of getting involved with shenanigans. They’re homebodies who prefer introverted nights in.

 

“Alright. My vacation is over. Time to get back on my bullshit.” Max sighs.

 

She stands on her tiptoes to stretch, releasing a series of pops in her vertebrae with a growl. It feels like she’s been chilling for over a year, just lying in stasis in this room. It’s appealing, just lying down and letting herself become part of the earth. 

 

She plucks her camera off Dana’s bed. Max knows better. She is a goddess of the wind. She scatters the earth, she does not become it.

 

“If you’re having trouble figuring out the source of the trouble, Rachel’s expertise is scrying and premonitions.” Dana says.

 

“Ironic, considering how she didn’t see her own death coming.” Max snorts.

 

“Maybe she did.” Alyssa says.

 

Max frowns and heads down the hall to talk to Victoria. Her knocks go unanswered, though she knows that Victoria’s in there. Her music is super loud.

 

“Victoria! I think there’s an emergency.” She shouts through the wood.

 

The music gets louder.

 

Guess she’s gonna have to track Rachel down herself.

 

* * *

 

 

She’s caught up on The Vampire Diaries, Supernatural,, and the new series of Sherlock. Rachel looks through the queue and finds The Walking Dead listed on her shows-to-catch-up on. Her stomach turns at that and she flips through until she finds cartoons.

 

Yeah, maybe she’s been hiding up in her room since coming back from the dead. Maybe she’s needed to lick her wounds and regroup after the whole ‘being dead for way longer than three days,  _ Nathan _ ’ fiasco. Now she’s a poor imitation of Sally from The Nightmare Before Christmas and none more goth for trying. Rachel presses the heels of her hands into her mismatched eyes.

 

The doorbell rings.

 

“Mom!” She yells.

 

No answer.

 

Right. She went grocery shopping.

 

Rachel grumbles all the way down the stairs to open the door. Out on the front steps stands a woman wearing a Tofino Storm hoodie, her stringy blonde hair pulled into french braids. The woman levels Rachel with a grey-eyed stare.

 

“Got your postcard.” Sera says.

 

Rachel hugs the door before stepping aside to let her birth mother in. Sera always comes blowing into town on a bad wind. She brings change wherever she goes, but it’s never the good kind. She sends postcards from each destination. Rachel kept them in a box until Rose found them and pinned them up on a cork board in the kitchen. A little ‘Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego?’ game of their own.

 

So, naturally, when she decided to die, Rachel sent all of her parents postcards telling them she’d be out of town for awhile and not to worry.

 

Perhaps putting a time limit on ‘awhile’ would’ve been better.

 

Sera walks past Rachel on her way to the kitchen for a glass of water. Rachel always feels so small around Sera. Like a little girl hiding behind the doorframe because she’s shy.

 

“What did you do?” Sera finally says after a sip of water.

 

“I made one mistake and the other follow-up mistakes kind of spitballed.” Rachel admits.

 

“Show me your arms.” Sera says.

 

Rachel tucks her hair behind her ears then offers her patchwork limbs up. Sera twists them in the light and sighs.

 

“This can be fixed.” She says.

 

“How?” Rachel scrunches up her forehead.

 

“A lotion. It’s an old family recipe.” Sera says.

 

Ah. Sera is always telling stories about ‘their family’ and Rachel doubts most of them. Sera says her grandmother was a Romani woman on her way to Auschwitz during the Holocaust and that her grandfather was an SS officer so enamoured by her beauty that he helped her escape. That they arrived through Ellis Island, but moved to Florida to join the circus. That they come from a long line of seers and fortune tellers. 

 

The story’s always a little different with each retelling. Rachel’s googled some of the details and only found a photo of the circus they were supposed to be travelling with. None of the women in the picture looked enough like a relative to consider.

 

Being full of shit is her genetic destiny it would seem.

 

“I learned this recipe from your father.” Sera says, grabbing the mortar and pestle.

 

“Dad’s can barely make pasta sauce.” Rachel says.

 

“Not from James. Your  _ real  _ father.” Sera says.

 

Rachel rubs her temples.

 

“Enough with the bullshit. We’ve already been through the ‘this is your true mother’ drama, don’t fucking tell me that I’ve got a secret dad too.” She huffs.

 

“It’s not a secret that I used to party pretty hard with Dionysus, Rachel. I have a picture of the two of you in my wallet somewhere.” Sera says.

 

She reaches into her back pocket for the black and white checkered wallet that says ‘No Doubt’.

 

Rachel barks out a laugh, “Okay! No. You know what? No.” 

 

The screen door slams behind her. She pulls her gumboots on before storming off into the wet suburban mist.

 

It does make sense. Her being the daughter of Dionysus would explain the compulsion towards theatre and hedonism. Here she was, thinking she was just a normal theatre kid. 

 

It can’t be true.

 

If it is, then her death was a mistake that ultimately led her further from divinity.

 

Shit. Her birth mother is a maenad, isn’t she?

 

Hey, parents, this is a good reason for telling your kid the truth from the get-go.

 

Her feet lead her to the one place that always clears her head.

 

The junkyard.

 

Oh.

 

There’s still a massive patch of disturbed dirt near the entrance. 

 

That’s. Her happy place became her (not-so) final resting place. Bile bubbles up her throat. It’s a violation of something sacred and soft.

 

The memories of that night have been returning slowly. The two of them walking along the highway out of town. A black car slowing and the window gliding down. A shared look with Nathan as she climbed into the back seat. Her wrists chafing against sticky tape. Cold air on her bare legs. Nathan’s whimpers coming from the other side of the room as something held him down.

 

She thought it would be scarier. She thought it would hurt.

 

But it was just a sharp prick and then blackness.

 

Rachel sinks to her knees before her own grave and lets out a ghastly wail.

 

There’s a crash deeper in the junkyard and Rachel whirls around, reaching for the nearest weapon. It’s a dirty shovel.

 

Someone approaches and Rachel moves into a crouch with shovel in hand. Chloe Price emerges from behind the school bus, floppy blue hair bouncing with her jog.

 

“Rachel.” She says.

 

Rachel sighs in relief, lowering the shovel, then dropping it. Chloe sees where she’s standing and bares her flat teeth in a grimace.

 

“Aw, damn it.” Chloe says.

 

She takes a few tentative steps closer, knowing from experience to let Rachel choose space or closeness.

 

Chloe standing at five-foot-nine with her pretty glowing eyes and slim frame. Her grey skin and blue hair make her look like a frost giant or something. Something cold and unfeeling. That couldn’t be further from the truth. Chloe’s heart is like a broken egg, constantly leaking despite the damage.

 

Rachel takes those steps to bring them closer and wraps her arms around Chloe’s middle. Chloe relaxes into her grip, tucking her face into Rachel’s shoulder.

 

“I haven’t thanked you yet.” Rachel says.

 

Chloe shakes her head, “You don’t have to. It’s not… I didn’t do it for thanks. I did it because I can’t exist in a world where you are somewhere I’m not.” Her voice cracks.

 

Rachel digs her nails in deeper, clinging to the other girl like she’d fall otherwise. She just might. Her knees shake and she feels dizzy. Love hits her with the same intensity as the first time. Watching Chloe Price drawing dicks in Chemistry but still answering Ms. Grant’s question without any effort. How she leaned back and licked her teeth in a dashing grin. How that, of all things, made Rachel’s heart squeeze and stomach do flips.

 

She’s fallen in love with other people since then, but maybe she didn’t fall as far out of love with Chloe as she thought.

 

Maybe it’s always been there burning low like a candle down to a stub. All it needs is a little fuel to get going.

 

Chloe smells dead, but she still has that airy scent of freedom and men’s antiperspirant. Rachel pushes away and grabs Chloe by the chin.

 

“Let’s get out of here.” She says.

 

“Like… to Two Whales?” Chloe says.

 

“No. Let’s take a road trip.” Rachel says.

 

“Where? The veil’s super thin right now and neither of us can pass for human.” Chloe says.

 

Rachel pulls a silver bookmark out of her pocket with a grin.

 

“Holy shit, is that a glamour?” Chloe whispers.

 

“So, what do you think? You and me, the old highway.” Rachel says.

 

“Sure beats Tacoma. Tacoma fucking sucks.” Chloe says.

 

“I always associate it with Monster Trucks.” Rachel says.

 

“Oh my god, I know right? Those fucking ads they played on Fox Kids in the morning.” Chloe laughs, lighting a cigarette and offering the box to Rachel.

 

Rachel waves them off and leans against the hood of the school bus. Her gaze keeps drifting back towards her grave. Chloe notices and grabs her hand.

 

“Come on, walk with me.” Chloe says.

 

They match paces on their way back to Chloe’s truck. 

 

“Maybe we could go to Olympia and pay homage to Courtney Love by seeing a punk show or something.” Rachel says.

 

“Angel, you’ve always understood me like no one else.” Chloe grins.

 

The car tires squeal while they scream along to The Black Parade. It’s the perfect distraction from everything else.

 

* * *

  
  


“Easy on those waffles, Kiddo.” Ryan says.

 

Max glares at him from behind her stack of carbs, strawberries, and whipped cream. Ryan grins into his coffee cup.

 

“How is everything?” Joyce says as she wanders up.

 

Max moans into her food, “Amazing Joyce. Thank you.”

 

Joyce’s smile is strained, “More coffee, Ryan?”

 

“I’ll have what she’s having.” He jokes.

 

Joyce raises an eyebrow.

 

“I do actually want waffles.” He says.

 

“Another plate of waffles, coming up.” Joyce says.

 

Max watches her leave. Ryan kicks her under the table.

 

“Maxine Vanessa, don’t be gross. Joyce is old enough to be your mother!” He hisses.

 

She winces at the use of her middle name.

 

“She’s not my mother though.” Max says with a smirk.

 

Ryan rubs at his eyes, his nictitating membrane makes a squishing noise. It’s pretty much the only tell selkies have. Other than the love of raw fish and belly slaps.

 

“So, I ran into Frank Bowers today.” He changes the subject.

 

“What’s he been up to? Fighting dogs? Having sex with teenage girls? Selling drugs?” Max says.

 

Ryan’s mouth pulls down at that. He reaches for another sugar packet for his coffee.

 

“He said that you saved him from some tentacled creature living in the woods.” Ryan steals one of her strawberries.

 

Max is about to reply when she hears a familiar revving. She looks out the window just in time to see Chloe’s truck go thundering by. Max frowns and checks her phone. Chloe’s texted her and she’s replied, but how? She doesn’t remember getting these messages, let alone responding. She has half a mind to call Chloe and let her know that she’s losing time.

 

Something’s fucky.

 

“Mind not looking at your phone when I’m talking to you?” Her dad’s voice is testy.

 

“Sorry, Dad. I’m just worried about Chloe.” Max puts her phone on the table.

 

It lights up with a text from Nathan.

 

‘I can still taste you ;p’

 

Max quickly puts the phone back into her pocket. Ugh, fucking asshole has to make everything sound dirty. He’s been dropping innuendo ever since she fed him from her wrist. It’s not even funny anymore. It’s just desperate and sad.

 

“Something bad is going on. I don’t know what the creature is, but it’s been skulking around the Bay for awhile. I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s what killed Rachel.” Max says.

 

Joyce appears with waffles and sets them down.

 

“Rachel’s dead?” She says.

 

She covers her mouth in horror. Max grimaces.

 

“No, she got better. It’s fine, Joyce. Don’t worry.” Max says.

 

“You know what? No. Every time I hear from you kids someone’s died, or been resurrected, or sold their soul. I am putting my foot down.” Joyce says.

 

She pauses to take out her phone and fire off a text.

 

“If you just grounded Chloe it’s like… four minutes too late.” Max holds up her phone.

 

It’s a series of sexts from Nathan. She sputters and her face goes red as she quickly switches between conversations to show the message from Chloe.

 

Ryan and Joyce exchange a look.

 

“Max, taking off with Rach for the weekend. Call if you need anything.” Chloe’s text reads.

 

“Goddess-damn it.” Joyce stomps her foot.

 

Ryan nods, digging into his waffles.

 

When Joyce leaves Ryan says,

 

“So, who is Nathan?”

 

Max hits her head against the booth, she feels like she needs to be lighting a dramatic cigarette before speaking, so she holds her knife like one,

 

“A pain in my ass.”

 

* * *

  
  


Victoria Chase is making the unfortunate discovery that just because something is a heeled boot, does not make it muddy hiking appropriate attire. She learns this by slipping on some leaves and going ass over applecart and landing face first in a pile of the yellow, boggy mud. She swears and crawls up on her knees. There are pretty girls around and she can’t be acting a fool.

 

Kate and Max are dressed appropriately for the task and she has no idea how wearing rubber overalls and boots makes them cuter. It must be the hair. Max is wearing an old man hat over a pair of silly pigtails and Kate has a crown braid. They both look younger and softer for it. That plus the warm flannels makes them look like a pair of gay cranberry farmers.

 

Lesbians who farm cranberries, they don’t farm gay cranberries.

 

They’re not looking for cranberries, they’re gathering mud from the river because the river flows from the sacred grove. Thus the silt is rich with both magic and minerals.

 

It’s for a lotion so powerful it can de-mummify her hands. That’s the plan anyway.

 

“You okay Victoria?” Kate says.

 

Victoria huffs and brushes herself off.

 

“I don’t even know why we bothered coming out here. This is the last time I let you bitches drag me on another chore.” She says.

 

“You invited us here, so don’t be rude.” Says Max.

 

Victoria hugs her torso, hiding her soft belly from two women who could tear it open so easily. She hates caring what people think. She hates that these losers the opinions that matter most of all. Especially when they’re unconcerned with looking disgusting or undignified in their waders as they dig through the mud. Max chases a sleepy frog out of her jar. They have to be careful with the wildlife and the mud itself. The ground will harden and the frogs will slip into stasis. The world will go quiet and cold.

 

It’s the end of the Lunar year. The old woman is dying and they will live through the darkness of her death until she is born again on Winter Solstice. Then the sun will come back to the Earth and reignite the life it left. There is a season, turn, turn turn.

 

“I have half a mind to head back.” Max says, “Pretty sure we have enough mud and this fog just keeps getting thicker. Any thicker and some inter-dimensional spiders are gonna come and… like chase us into a supermarket for months.”

 

“I always preferred Ray Bradbury to Stephen King.” Kate says, getting mud on her cheek as she brushes a blonde hank of hair away from her face.

 

“Fuuuck me, Ray Brad-bur-y.” Victoria sings.

 

Kate joins in and they harmonize, “The greatest sci-fi writer history!”

 

Max is bewildered.

 

Kate turns to her and laughs, “I love Rachel Bloom.”

 

“A bit naughty for you, Marsh.” Victoria says with an arched brow.

 

“Please. You all act like I’m some fucking Mormon.” Kate rolls her eyes.

 

Max gasps exaggeratedly, “Kate said a bad word.”

 

Kate flips both of them off.

 

Max sticks her tongue out and winks at Victoria. Victoria feels her stomach clench at that. 

 

“It is getting cold. We should probably head out.” Victoria says.

 

She suddenly feels very small. The hair on the back of her neck stands up and she can hear Kate growl.

 

A figure wanders towards them in the mist. Victoria feels cold sweat gathering on her face and armpits. Her mind races a thousand different directions. Wendigos, banshees, that Ramses ghost from Courage the Cowardly Dog…

 

It’s a woman in a blue hoodie, jeans, and gumboots. She looks to be in her early thirties, but she could just have a young face. The more noticeable detail that pops into view are the coiled ram horns she has.

 

“Afternoon, ladies.” The woman says.

 

“Hunting for magic goo?” Max says, holding up her own mason jar of magic mud.

 

“I am.” The woman says.

 

Max squints at the woman now that she’s closer. The woman’s older and the colouring’s a little different, but she does look a lot like Rachel.

 

“Wellp. Time to go.” Max says, hoping she can communicate this detail to Victoria via eyebrow movements.

 

Victoria looks at her like she’s a crazy person.

 

Kate luckily saves the day by transforming into a massive wolf. Her flannel hangs off her shoulders as she stares at the moon above.

 

Wait, that’s right. It’s only a half moon. 

 

Victoria looks skyward and sees three moons side by side in the sky. One happens to be full.

 

“What the fuck.” She whispers.

 

“That can’t be good.” Max says through a mouthful of blood.

 

The maenad that may or may not be related to Rachel pulls out a pack of smokes. She lights one.

 

“This is the doing of the kid with the nosebleed.” She says, pointing to Max, “Chica’s leaking magic like woah.”

 

* * *

  
  


Fall is the season of stasis. Sunlight is weak and pale yellow. The last dregs of energy are spent shedding leaves to bare branches to the sky like thin fingers.

 

Dana’s boots scuff against the cement walkway. She pauses with her heel above a ‘Rachel Was Here’ carved into the pavement to look at one tree that’s fully green.

 

“What’s going on with you, Buddy?” Dana says.

 

She presses her palm against the trunk and focuses on the energy swirling within the maple tree. Paws have been tracking golden dust all over its branches and bark. The dust soaks into the roots, giving the tree this glow.

 

Wait, Dana knows that dust.

 

“Ah, Ms. Ward. The squirrels got into a box that I think might be yours.” Comes a voice to her left.

 

Samuel, the groundskeeper, stands with a box in hand. It’s been torn apart by tiny claws. Dana takes a deep breath.

 

“I disposed of that properly.” She says with gritted teeth.

 

“I’m afraid there’s no keeping them out of where they want to be.” Samuel says.

 

“Fuck.” Dana groans.

 

“They’ve been tracking this dust all over campus. I hope it’s not toxic.” He says.

 

“It’s not. But that does explain the amount of squirrel orgies I’ve been seeing in the parking lot.” Dana says through clenched teeth.

 

* * *

 

“I need to stretch my legs.” Chloe says, lowering the music.

 

“Let’s pull in here. I want ice cream anyway.” Rachel says.

 

This little camp ground is the last spot on Arcadia Bay’s end of the veil. It has an RV dealership, minigolf course, and the ice cream place. It should be abandoned, but paranormals go on vacation too, so it keeps seasonal hours.

 

“You want one?” Rachel says, half out of the truck.

 

“I’m a zombie, Babe. I eat brains.” Chloe says.

 

“You need brains to live. You can eat other things.” Rachel says.

 

Chloe pauses at that. She does add flavours to the flesh she’s eating, but only hot sauce seems to make any kind of difference. She takes comforts in it being like a congested astronaut on the space station. They can’t taste anything without hot sauce either.

 

“Yeah, why the fuck not?” Chloe says after a moment.

 

“Cool. I’ll be back.” Rachel says.

 

She’s gone in a swish of long hair and the steady tap of converse on pavement. Chloe leans against the truck and smokes, feeling some of the air trickle through the hole in her chest.

 

Seeing Rachel alive. Well, that makes everything up until this point worth it. Chloe stubs out her cigarette and follows Rachel into the shop. She’s laughing that open mouthed laugh with the teenager behind the counter as she passes a five for the two twisted cones. Her eyes are still lit up as she notices Chloe coming up behind her.

 

Chloe cautiously touches the back of Rachel’s waist. She doesn’t shy away from the contact, instead she holds out an ice cream for Chloe to lick. She captures the top of the soft serve tower between her lips, expecting cold and faint sweetness, but not much else.

 

Chocolate and vanilla invade her senses. Chloe’s eyes widen. She takes the cone from Rachel and licks it with intensity. Rachel licks some chocolate off her finger and laughs.

 

“Good?” She says.

 

Chloe feels tears pricking her eyes. She just nods and leads Rachel out into the parking lot.

 

“Chloe, are you okay?” Rachel says, darting her tongue against her own ice cream.

 

Chloe nods again, wiping a tear with the back of her hand.

 

“I. I accepted that dying was gonna be like Barbossa, you know?! Food would turn to ash in my mouth and touch would be muted. Everything was gonna suck more than it did before, and before it sucked a lot. I. I think I died so long before I actually died that I forgot what living was even like. You know? And you… chocolate and vanilla. You remind me what being alive feels like.” Chloe says in a rush.

 

Rachel stares at Chloe, well aware that she’s dripping ice cream, but this seems too important of a revelation to eat through.

 

“Are you talking to me or the ice cream?” She says.

 

“Both. You. You’re the ice cream in this crapsack world.” Chloe says.

 

Rachel feels tears behind her eyes, “Yeah, you’re sweet as a whole hive full of bees, Chloe Price.”

 

Chloe shoves at her with her free hand.

 

“Finish your ice cream.” She says, clamming up again.

 

Rachel licks some off her fingers, maintaining eye contact. She grins at the wash of grey-red that floods Chloe’s cheeks. Still got it.

 

“In all seriousness, though,” Rachel leans against the truck next to Chloe, “I can’t be your reason for living, but I’m glad you got to taste ice cream again.”

 

Chloe nods, biting into her cone.

 

She hums along with the AM radio as they make their way to the mountain pass at the edge of town.

 

“Is that Frank’s RV?” Chloe says.

 

It’s rhetorical, they’re both very familiar with what Frank’s RV looks like. Rachel’s the one who got him that ‘If this van’s a-rockin’, don’t come a-knockin’ bumper sticker. Chloe drew the dick next to it. They’re adults.

 

Chloe slows the truck.

 

“Something feel… horror movie-ish to you?” She says.

 

Rachel nods, frowning. She’s listening to the forest around them.

 

No birds. No wind.

 

No barking Pompidou.

 

Chloe leaves the car on, but shifts it into neutral and grabs the pistol from under the seat.

 

“Got another one of those?” Rachel says.

 

“Nope, but I do have a crowbar in the back.” 

 

She opens the door and offers Rachel the crowbar through the window.

 

Rachel takes it.

 

“Do you wanna stay in the car in case I come running out?” Chloe says.

 

“I don’t think we should split up.” Rachel says.

 

Staying together didn’t help her and Nathan, but at least he was there when she died.

 

“Yeah.” Chloe says.

 

They knock on Frank’s door. No barking. No movement. Chloe tugs the door open and enters with gun drawn.

 

Rachel has her eyes on the treeline as she follows Chloe in.

 

Empty. Not a piece of paper or dirty dish out of place. That is, until they hear a rattling coming from Frank’s bedroom.

 

Chloe holds a finger up to her lips and moves forward, step by step towards the back door. She takes a deep breath before flinging the door open, gun at the ready.

 

A pair of squirrels are really going at it on a pizza box. Chloe bursts out laughing and lowers the gun. Rachel comes to see the commotion.

 

“Oh my god. This is my aesthetic.” Rachel says, taking out her cracked iPhone to record it.

 

“Who among us hasn’t had sex in a pizza box?” Chloe says.

 

Rachel looks up and to the left, “Coachella?” 

 

“No, it was Warped Tour 2011.” Chloe says.

 

“Your memory of that weekend is better than mine.” Rachel sighs.

 

Chloe’s stuffing her gun back into her pants as she descends the stairs, exiting the RV. The squirrel sex took the edge off her anxiety. Rachel’s still on her phone and walks into Chloe’s back.

 

“What gives?” She says.

 

Chloe points across the street.

 

There stands a scarecrow. A scarecrow that either they didn’t notice before, or was put up in the five minutes they spent inside the RV.

 

A scarecrow wearing Frank’s leather jacket.

 

A scarecrow that’s dripping from the bottom. Chloe pulls her gun out, hand shaking as she lines it up with the jack-o-lantern head, ready for something to jump out.

 

Something does. A length of lower intestine falls noisily from the jacket. Rachel screams into her hand.

 

“Get in the car. Get in the car!” Chloe says.

 

Rachel takes that as ‘RV’ as she’s still half-inside it and jogs back up the stairs. She reaches under the seat for the spare keys Frank keeps there and revs up the engine. Chloe looks between her truck, the scarecrow, and the RV. Hesitation cost her the last life, so she goes for the RV.

 

They can come back for the truck. She’s barely got the door shut behind her when Rachel slams on the accelerator.

 

“Jesus, Girl! Warn a bitch before you do that.” Chloe crawls up the stairs and into the passenger seat.

 

Rachel’s eyes are glowing a like hard lights. She’s biting her lip and her knuckles are white. All attempts at humour slide from Chloe’s lips and she keeps her gun trained on the door.

 

There’s a flash of brown and Rachel swerves to avoid it.

 

“What was that?” Chloe shouts.

 

“We can’t stay to find out.” Rachel’s voice is high and shredded.

 

They both know what(who) it was. Neither wants to say it. They don’t want to have seen it. They just need to escape.

 

* * *

 

 

“Where the hell is everyone?” Max groans.

 

She’s been wandering around the usual campus haunts, but has had zero luck since her dad dropped her off. Nathan’s usually lurking around her room. He’s absent and there’s a funny smell she’s gonna grill him about later.

 

Dana’s not in her room. Neither are Victoria and Kate. Chloe isn’t picking up her phone and she’s pretty sure she doesn’t even have Rachel’s number.

 

That just leaves…

 

“Hey Max-a-Million!”

 

Max groans.

 

“Hey, Warren.” She says.

 

His hooves click as he jogs over.

 

“You look like you could use some company.” He says.

 

Max weighs her options. She legitimately considers opening her third eye to look at all of the potential other situations she could use to get out of this. Warren has a car and may be her only chance to regroup with… her group.

 

She’s saved by the hum of an approaching engine. Victoria’s yellow car is pulling into the parking lot. Max sends out a silent thanks as she jogs away.

 

“Thanks for the offer, Warren!”

 

The back door of Victoria’s car opens first and out jumps Kate in shredded clothes looking very Hulk-chic.

 

“There’s mud on my socks.” She complains.

 

“I dunno what happened there guys, I’m sorry.” Comes her own voice.

 

Max pauses in her approach. Victoria stops getting out of the car to look from Max in the car, then Max in the parking lot.

 

“Oh.” She mouths.

 

Max looks down and sees the dashboard of Victoria’s car. She sees her own face. She sees the back of her head.

 

Max turns around to see another Max approaching. This one has her arms folded and Dana in tow.

 

Then she sees the scene before her but from an even farther distance.

 

She’s gone cross-eyed, feeling like she’s watching the security camera coverage of her own life.

 

The fourth Max has a spring in her step as she skips down the school steps.

 

Another moon appears in the sky.

 

“For fuck’s sake.” Max says, feeling blood trickle from her nose onto…

 

Leather seats.

 

Cracked pavement.

 

Her own arms.

 

“What the fuck is going on?!” Victoria shouts.

 

Kate is pulling the seizing Max from the front seat. There’s a hum in the air like a rubber band being stretched. The ground begins to shake.  Dana catches her Max before she drops to the pavement like a stone.

 

“Call Chloe! She’s dealt with Max’s episodes before!” Kate shouts.

 

Victoria’s phone vibrates out of her hand, landing on the pavement and buzzing further away.

 

The Max in front of her begins to glow. 

 

It’s all building towards something. Then that rubber band snaps.

 

A hole appears in the air of the parking lot. Out steps a woman in black boots and a blue dress. She picks the nearest Max up and presses a palm to her forehead.

 

“Concentrate.” She says.

 

Max’s eyes blink rapidly. The moons in the sky drift together, forming a whole again. Kate yelps as the Max in her arms disappears. Victoria drops to her knees to grab her phone. 

 

When she stands up Max and the woman are gone. Her shoulder bag drops to the ground.

 

“What the shit?” Victoria darts forward to grab the dropped shoulder bag, as if it’s somehow hiding Max.

 

“Was that…?” Kate begins.

 

Dana and Warren are jogging towards them. Dana stops when she reaches Victoria.

 

“I always thought Max’s grandmother would be older.” She says.

 

“That was awesome!” Warren says.

 

“No! No it was not you nasty little dweeb!” Victoria snaps.

 

She dials Max’s number and presses call. The phone hurts her jaw with the pressure she has cutting into her face.

 

_ “The number you have dialed is not in service. Please check the area code and try again later.” _

 

“We just have to trust that she’ll come back.” Kate says softly.

 

Victoria bursts into tears.

 

* * *

  
  


The crashing of waves and call of gulls is what wakes Max up. She blinks back to life, looking at a whitewashed high ceiling. Her bed is soft and the blanket covering her is handmade. She yawns, feeling more rested than she has in years. That pinched feeling at the base of her brain has stopped and she is a blissfully empty vessel.

 

Stairs spiral downwards toward the sounds of someone working below. Smells of sausage and maple drift upwards, filling Max’s nose and luring her out of bed. Fresh clothes are splayed on a wooden crate. The jeans are starched and stiff. The shirt is off-white and looks like long underwear. One of the bras she was wearing is underneath, rooting her in which reality this is.

 

Max keeps her mouth in a yawn as she scuffs down the stairs towards the kitchen. Grandmother’s back is to her, but she looks about fifty. Silver hair pulls away from her temples, pulled into a loose ponytail that falls over her shoulder.

 

“You’re up.” Grandmother says.

 

“How long was I out?” Max says.

 

“Six months.” Grandmother says.

 

“Hah! Really though? Few hours?” Max says.

 

Her grandmother blinks at her.

 

Max sinks into the nearest chair. She grips the table.

 

“Shit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter was brought to you by male nudity.
> 
>  
> 
> lmao sorry Frank


	6. one last game of musical chairs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Max looks through all the doors. Rachel and Chloe fight Jefferson. Everyone else just kinda bickers and does nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are at the end. This started just as a series of vignettes that I enjoyed writing because they were beautiful scenes I felt like writing. Then it got all... plot-y and stuff and now I have to tie threads together and make shit coherent. BAh! I say. 
> 
> To all who stuck it out with me, thank you for sticking it out. To all new readers, hey! You get to read the whole thing in one sitting!
> 
> Blease leab me a message in the comments section down below.
> 
> Happy 2018. Go kiss the girls and boys you want to kiss.

_ Oh god come quickly, for the execution of all things _

_ Let's start with the bears and the air and then mountains rivers and streams _

_ Then we'll murder what matters to you and move on to your neighbors and kids _

_ Crush all hopes of happiness with disease 'cause of what you did _

_ Lastly, you're all alone with nothing left but sleep _

_ But sleep never comes to you, it's just the guilt and forever wakefulness of the weak _

_ It's just you and me _

 

_ The Execution of All Things - Rilo Kiley _

 

⧞

 

_ Then. _

 

The plywood and carpet floor is hard against Victoria’s knees. Her legs long since cramped, fingers laced together, eyes on the dying flame atop a gnarled candle.

 

She’s been sitting here for two hours, waiting. Her SOS goes unanswered and she is lost at sea.

 

Rachel Amber got her deity three months ago. The whispers were all over school.

 

_ “Did you hear? Rachel got Persephone.” _

 

_ “What? No way!” _

 

Perfect fucking Rachel Amber who manages to be the best witch in their school. Rachel with her muggle parents and her perfect GPA. Rachel, who once enchanted an entire audience during the school play. Everyone thought she’d get Aphrodite, or Inanna, maybe Dionysus. Not the goddess of the underworld.

 

Just more proof that Rachel is more snake than apple. 

 

Victoria shakes her head. She needs to be focusing on her request. Her offering is a burnt rack of lamb that smells gamey as hell. 

 

Still, no takers.

 

Proof that she’s useless and weak. That she doesn’t belong here.

 

Victoria cracks her wrists before adjusting them in prayer.

 

_ Oh Gods, come quickly. Please. _

 

Tears cling to her eyelashes.

 

Then she feels a soft pressure on her shoulder and hears a ‘brrrp’.

 

Something small uses her back as a ramp, then jumps off the meat of her shoulder and onto the altar. A cat, smooth and black, licks its whiskers before leaning forward to nip at the lamb.

 

A hiss catches in Victoria’s lips. It could be someone’s familiar drawn here by meat, or it could be someone  _ someone  _ finally paying attention to her.

 

The cat tears a chunk of meat off the offering and turns to observe her. Victoria keeps her eyes low and wets her lips.

 

“Please.” She rasps.

 

“Oh, chill out, Kid. You’ll do just fine.” The cat says.

 

Victoria gawps, air coming from her in a short burst.

 

The cat seems to smile as she pads forward and presses her nose in the corner of Victoria’s eye.

 

“You and me are gonna have so much fun, Victoria.” Bast says. 

 

⧞

 

_ Now. _

 

Rachel comes to consciousness with the awareness of two things. 

 

One: she is being dragged through the woods. 

 

Two: her head hurts.

 

She rolls her neck to look around her and blinks back to life.

 

Chloe’s arm is off, but she’s being dragged as well. Her beanie is absent, exposing lemon tea coloured roots and a few leaves caught in her hair.

 

Rachel angles her chin against her chest to see their attacker. Black tentacles are coiled around her ankles and she wrinkles her nose, silently cursing Nathan’s existence. This may not be his fault, but she’s blaming him for unease in this situation. (He once explained Japanese tentacle hentai to her in gory detail during the doldrums of summer between theatre camp and regular camp. She knows that she would have learned about it regardless just by being a person who watches anime, but he took that innocence from her.)

 

Shit. The world seems brighter, more in focus. Well, except Chloe, who looks like she’s in some kind of stasis. Her eyes are a dull grey, much like they must’ve been in death.

 

No one knows where they are or what’s happened. Chances of rescue are about as high as Frank’s survival rate.

 

Shit. Frank. She wants to feel that. The sting of tears. Horror. Anything.

 

All she feels is a stick poking her in the ass. And that fucking pounding in her forehead.

 

Rachel reaches for her temples and startles at the feeling of:

 

One, dried blood.

 

Two, rough protrusions from her head.

 

Three, the skin around her forehead healed beneath the now useless stitches.

 

She looks at her fingertips to confirm the blood and notices the transition between her own hand and the borrowed arm is a smooth one free of freckles.

 

The earth hums beneath her, soft and breathing like the first sighs of sleep. Rachel closes her eyes and presses a hand to the ground. Down, down she finds the lightning networks of mycelium that moves nutrients and information through the earth like a power grid. Her consciousness drifts from her own body into the mycelium, asking a nearby tree to lend its roots as a weapon against this thing that’s dragging her.

 

_ “I can do you one better.”  _ The tree answers.

 

A sudden bump in the ground causes the black tentacle to jolt off course and stop, unable to move. Rachel bends at the waist in a sit up to see the situation ahead of her.

 

The tentacle’s fallen into a fairy ring. What remains has been turned to stone, breaking the connection between it and whatever thing lies at its end.

 

Rachel kicks off the dead length and gets up to help Chloe. She grabs Chloe around the ribs and swings her in the direction of the fairy ring. That tentacle crumbles and dies too. There’s a screech from the woods.

 

Rachel looks at the collapsed zombie, the oncoming danger, and the woods around her.

 

This is a shitshow.

 

⧞

 

_ Then. _

 

Elizabeth is not a god in the traditional sense. Trans-dimensional being of extreme power is a more accurate descriptor. There was lore of her being a messiah, but that culture didn’t last long enough for the idea to cross-pollinate. Her existence is owed to good old science, not supernatural forces at work.

 

She  meant to hide herself away from everything. Trying to change anything is an exhausting exercise in futility, so she chose self-imposed exile.

 

A lighthouse keeper on the edge of the world.

 

(The coastal shelf of Maine isn’t really the edge of the world, but it’s cold and lonely in the best way.)

 

Her equilibrium was ruined on a summer’s day. The arms of her wool sweater rolled up to her elbows and face sticky from heat and exertion, she saw a the bare back of a man sitting on the dock.

 

She dropped her bucket, unused to seeing strange men, let alone nude ones.

 

The noise caused his skin and shoulders to jump, he twisted his head to look at her. He had eyes like liquid ink and a broad, flat nose.

 

“I didn’t think anyone lived here.” He said.

 

“Sir, I must ask what route you took to my abode. It should be well-hidden from prying eyes.” She said, aghast.

 

The man looked her up and down.

 

“You’re not a human, are you?” He said.

 

She twisted the thimble on her pinkie.

 

“No, not for a long time now.” She said.

 

“They say an old woman lives in this lighthouse. That she’s some kind of sea witch.” He said.

 

She snorted, “Is that what they say?”

 

“Are you an old sea witch?” He said.

 

“Sometimes.” She said.

 

He was a silver thread to the outside world. An indulgence. He brought her shells of abalone and conch. She sang and painted for him. He asked where she was from and she would give a pained smile. Through her evasion he managed to wheedle it out of her.

 

“New York, but I was raised in Columbia.” She said.

 

“I’d love to visit either.” He said.

 

“I wouldn’t.” She said.

 

But she did bring him to a city beneath the sea.

 

“The seals talk about this place, but never in such good condition. They call it Atlantis. Say it’s been ruins for decades now.” He said, looking quite sharp in a pinstriped suit, black hair slicked back.

 

She took his hand and danced with him like it was 1959.

 

He gave her a son with eyes like hers and a dappled coat. She called him ‘Ryan’ after the king of the sunken city as a joke, but it stuck. It was a relief that the boy took after him and not after her.

 

She wouldn’t wish her lonely existence on any child.

 

The seal man and the son he gave her stayed with her only until the boy could fend for himself beneath the waves. After that, they slipped into the sea and never returned.

 

She understood. She’s never been easy to love.

 

Her son returned to her a decade and a half later with a broken heart and a request.

 

“Mother. We’ve tried and tried, but her womb cannot carry a child to term. Can’t you… magic something to fix it?” He said.

 

He looked so much like her father. Her only son, a weakness the size of her heart.

 

Harder versions of her said, “No.” and sent him on his way.

 

She did what she swore she’d never do again.

 

She lived up to her namesake.

 

Shuffling through universes to find the one wherein Vanessa Caulfield’s womb did carry a child to term, even then, it was a premature breech birth. The child kept incubated for weeks, small enough to fit doll clothes.

 

This version of her son had been through so much. What kind of mother would she be to take the child from him?

 

Staging a break and enter was old hat at this point. His eyes registered her identity before the bullet entered his head. The mother was next. Died shielding the child.

 

A human would weep at doing such a thing to her own family. She just sighed and bounced the crying baby.

 

The tear between worlds hissed before her, ready to close and right the universe again. She paused. Caught in temptation, she unwrapped the swaddled little girl in her arms.

 

It’s such a lonely existence. She’s met other versions of herself, but unlike others in her predicament, she’s not enough of a narcissist to fall in love with a mirror.

 

“Forgive me.” She whispered.

 

She freed the baby’s foot from its sock and spread its toes apart.

 

“It’ll be just a little pinch.” She said, kissing a soft head.

 

The gate between worlds closed around the infant’s smallest toe. Two pieces in two different universes. The equivalent of straddling a border. She exists in multitudes now.

 

Presentation being everything, she carried the child in one of the old shells her ex-lover gave.

 

Ryan’s face lit up. When she blinked, she did not see his pale face coated in blood. She did not see the look of betrayal behind his eyes. Instead, she saw the joy of a father being handed his new baby girl.

 

“What are you going to call her?” She said.

 

“Max.” He said, pressing a kiss to a freckled brow.

 

⧞

 

_ Now. _

 

“Max. Would you like another poached egg?” Grandmother says.

 

Max looks up from the window she’s brooding out of. Her hair’s in a loose ponytail that greatens their semblance.  She rubs the side of her nose with her thumb.

 

“Grandma, what do you know about love?” She says.

 

Her heart falls at that. Of all of the questions the kid could ask, it has to be the worst one.

 

“I know that it’s a fool’s errand, Sweetheart.” Grandmother answers honestly.

 

“But you love Dad and me, right?” Max frowns.

 

Grandmother pushes Max’s hair away from her face.

 

“More than anything.” She says.

 

⧞

 

_ Now. _

 

A six month nap is actually awesome and she doesn’t regret the decadence of it in the slightest.

 

She does regret being stuck in the eternal ocean with her chronically depressed chrononaut ancestor. 

 

Grandmother is literally older than sliced bread among many other things. She’s dreary and has a faraway look in her eye. A contagious apathy.

 

But, Max will still take the sad lighthouse lady with the grey hair and galoshes over the version of Grandmother who has eyeliner that could kill and asks her if she wants to see a revolution.

 

(Revolutions actually fucking suck. Would not recommend.)

 

Sometimes she gets to see her grandmother at twenty and they take trips to other shores. They eat cotton candy and watch the sunset.

 

It’s in moments like that where eternity feels worth it. The ability to watch every sunset, to dance beneath every configuration of stars.

 

Mostly, it’s just boring.

 

“When can I go back?” Max says.

 

Grandmother pauses in roasting toast over the fire.

 

“I think that depends on you.” She says evasively.

 

Having a quantum grandma does lose its novelty when looking for a straight answer ever.

 

Max sighs and pulls her shoes on.

 

“You’re going to miss breakfast.” Grandmother says.

 

“Yeah, well, I need to take a walk.” Max says.

 

⧞

 

_ The then and now. _

 

“To be clear, there were only five Maxes running around, right?” Kate says.

 

She’s on Victoria’s bed, back flat against the wall with legs crossed at the ankles. The light of her phone illuminates her features in Victoria’s dark, smoky room.

 

Victoria moves with a practiced grace from chair to chair. She’s making a conspiracy wall to connect the timelines of the past twelve hours. Red wool ties around tacks and dangle with slack.

 

Kate leans back on her hands and unbuttons another button on her cardigan. The body heat of the room is negating the cold of the outdoors.

 

Dana, currently cross-legged on the floor, starts counting off on fingers.

 

“Max I was with, Max you were with, hmm, I think I saw another Max coming out of the school before they all disappeared.” She frowns.

 

“That’s three. There was one in the parking lot when we showed up. I guess there were only four Maxes then.” Victoria says.

 

She keeps the fifth name up there just in case. Her lips purse as she writes times on a piece of paper before tearing them off and pinning them to the cork board.

 

“Wouldn’t it be easier to make a document on the computer and share it with everyone through Drive?” Kate says.

 

Victoria pauses in tacking paper up. Her fingers twitch and she drops her chin.

 

“Please, she’s obviously doing this for the aesthetic.” Dana says.

 

Victoria can’t even argue with that.

 

There’s a knock on the door that they all turn towards. Nathan enters without waiting for a response. He shrugs his blue letterman off and tosses it on the bed, narrowly missing Kate. Her hackles raise.

 

“Anyone seen Max?” He says, in a better mood than usual.

 

Victoria doesn’t respond, her eyes are narrowed and zeroed in on the shirt he’s wearing. It says ‘Whale, Whale, Whale!’ and she last saw Max wearing it in Gyromancy. 

 

It’s probably nothing. The most logical explanation is that Nathan’s been living as a cat recently and might not have had time to go back to his room and get dressed. He probably just borrowed the shirt. 

 

Victoria does not see the way Kate sniffs the air and how her eyes widen.

 

Her voice takes that nasally pitch it does when she’s cornering a girl for ridicule, “I don’t know, Nathan, have you seen her?”

 

“Not since this morning when she kicked me out.” He says.

 

He finds a latte on her desk, sniffs it, then takes a sip.  He wrinkles his nose at getting a mouthful of pumpkin sludge and cold milk.

 

“Oh, that’s something to add to the timeline. When did you last see her?” Dana says, getting to her feet.

 

Nathan pushes his lower lip out with his tongue while he thinks.

 

“Around eleven forty.” He says.

 

Dana grabs the pen from Victoria to write it down. Victoria’s stock still, nostrils flaring and fists balled.

 

“I was with Max at eleven forty too. As well, I mean. She was hanging with me and Alyssa. Wait, we saw you leave.” Dana says.

 

Nathan frowns slightly, “Wait, what?”

 

“Five different Maxes.” Kate says, blowing out a breath through her mouth.

 

She’s refusing to look at Nathan.

 

“Did she have sex with anyone else here?” He says.

 

Victoria squeaks. Dana eyes the other woman and moves out of the way, deciding that being out of choking distances is a good idea right now.

 

Kate flops back against Victoria’s bed and gives up on trying not to smell the hormones floating in the air.

 

“Haven’t seen Chloe today.” She says quietly.

 

“She texted me that she’s taking a gay-cation with Rachel. I didn’t approve it. I can summon her back.” Victoria says.

 

The golden hieroglyphics on her hands glow with buzzing power. 

 

“You let the two biggest messes we know go on a feel trip when there’s that blackness hanging out in the woods?” Kate says.

 

Victoria goes stone faced. It’s not like she was surprised by the death of either Rachel or Chloe, she was surprised how long both lasted, burning the candle at both ends as they did. Two self-destructive forces adoringly entwined. The tornado and the volcano.

 

Still, chances are whatever shenanigans those two idiots get up to will end up on her. Victoria rubs her temples and then checks her pocket for her car keys. Time for yet another rescue mission.

 

Dana makes a pained gasp. She collapses to her knees and curls her fingers into the carpet. Her hands creak and the blue of her eyes dulls. Kate is off the bed and on her knees by Dana, holding her steady.

 

“Something’s wrong.” She chokes.

 

“The squirrels have been fucking around with the saplings by the dorms.” Nathan says, reminding everyone that he’s here too.

 

“It’s the whole Bay.” Dana’s teeth chatters.

 

The ground begins to shake.

 

“For fuck’s sake.” Victoria rubs her eyes, “What are you, The Lorax?”

 

Everyone shoots Victoria side-eye for that. She flexes her black hands and twists them in her cashmere.

 

“What?! Dr. Seuss! ‘Cause she speaks for the trees!” Her voice goes up in pitch with each part of the explanation.

 

“We know what The Lorax is from your Dark Onceler cosplay at Halloween, Victoria.” Dana says.

 

“Come on, Dana. Don’t call me out like this. There are pretty girls here.”

 

“Aw, you called me pretty.” Kate says.

 

⧞

 

_ Now. _

 

Rachel grunts with the effort of trying to fireman carry Chloe back to the road. At this point it might be worth it to leave her in the grass while getting help.

 

A tentacle dives into her vision, making that decision for her. She leaves Chloe among a pile of leaves.

 

She needs to lead whatever the fuck that thing is away from the sacred spring.

 

Problem is, she’s pretty sure the host is already there. She’s gonna have to go and kick its ass. (It’s probably a  _ he  _ because let’s be honest about destructive tendencies.)

 

Rachel’s arm darts out to grab the tentacle before her brain can catch up. She snaps it off at the tip, causing a surprising green goo to spill out and burn the grass below.

 

“Oh. Gross.” She sighs.

 

She sways on her feet. She feels… unfinished. That rush of energy that sprung up when she was being dragged is dying fast. Her connected to the ground and plants feels tenuous.

 

On a hunch, Rachel unties her high tops, steps out of one, takes off one sock, then repeats the step on the other foot. She stuffs her socks into her shoes, ties the laces together, and hangs them on a nearby branch.

 

Energy courses through her from the ground all the way up to the brand new horns.

 

It hurts a little, but in the itchy way your skin does after a tattoo or working out at the gym. The seams where her limbs were attached begin to burn. For the first time since Rachel died she’s begun to heal.

 

All that’s left to do is off the motherfucker who did it.

 

Rachel picks up a nearby branch with her left hand. It has dog teeth marks and her heart aches for Frank and Pompidou. Right. Revenge time.

 

“Oh Marrrrrk!” She calls into the woods.

 

⧞

 

_ When? _

 

The eternal ocean is an endless stretch of sea, boardwalk, and lighthouses. Max pauses to draw a red ‘X’ on the lighthouse she’s leaving, a bread trail to lead her back home.

 

(Except infinite other Maxes could have the same thought and do the same thing.)

 

This is going to be tricky because she doesn’t want to move sideways, she wants to move forward.

 

She’s never gone forward, with that intention, only witnessed it in lost time after events changed in the time before.

 

“Guess there’s a first time for everything.” Max says.

 

So, she splits herself into five once more and opens doors number 1-5.

 

⧞

 

_ Door Number 4. _

 

Waking up is a form of coming back to life oft overlooked in a world so focused on rebirth. Or, it’s more likely the world doesn’t care nearly as much about rebirth as Max does, swirling the patterns together like milk and sugar in her tea. (She takes her coffee black. That’s a constant. No room for sweetness.)

 

The first thing she notices is the birdsong. The second is that the bed is missing an occupant. The other pillow is just barely warm. Max rolls over, curious as to whom she’s with in this future. Inspecting her hands she finds herself married--or at least wears a golden band on her left hand. She wiggles it. The weight is comfortable. Twisting it off, she sees a tan line separating the rest of her finger from the pale skin beneath the ring.

 

So, she’s been married for probably over six months. Maybe she just had a vacation in the Keys or Costa Rica. 

 

Max shuffles out of bed, feet touching bare wood. The house is modern, comfortable, and in the middle of a forest. Evergreen branches block the strongest of the sunlight from entering the window.

 

A glance in the mirror ages her at thirty, maybe? She pulls at the pouches under her eyes.

 

There’s a cough downstairs. Max follows the noise, down stairs lined with photos of her and Victoria. Ah, so that helps with what to expect.

 

She can marry Victoria if she wants to.

 

There’s a power in knowing that.

 

Also, this is a bomb ass house. They have bird wallpaper that was most likely her doing, and an in-house studio. She wonders if they ever leave.

 

There’s some nervousness as she enters the kitchen. There’s no one there, but the kettle’s freshly boiled. Max searches for coffee beans and finds protein shakes and scary looking bottles of pills. The fridge is fruit, eggs, takeout, and a dozen half-finished protein shakes. The coffee beans are in the freezer. Max worries her lip as she grinds beans, pausing to look at the medical bills stuck to the fridge.

 

She finds the house’s other occupant on a porch that overlooks the forest. Turns out this isn’t a house so much as it’s a massive cabin on a hill.

 

Victoria’s hair is shorn down to a fine fuzz. She’s wrapped up in a lime coloured robe, coffee between her hands and a camera on a tripod to her left.

 

The appropriate thing to do is probably come up from behind and wrap arms around her waist. Max stays in the doorway, watching silently.

 

Feeling her eyes, Victoria turns and smiles at the sight of Max. She runs a hand over her face self-consciously. Her stubble looks a few days old.

 

“You got in pretty late last night. I wanted to let you sleep in.” Victoria says, voice raspy.

 

“I’m up now.” Max says, walking across the warming wood of the porch to greet Victoria with a kiss to the cheek.

 

“How are you feeling?” They both say.

 

They laugh.

 

“I’m fine.” Max says, “You’re the one I’m worried about.”

 

Victoria’s smile is brittle, that look she has when she’s not saying something. Her hands are normal in this life, soft, pale and reaching out to cup Max’s cheek.

 

“I’m glad you’re home. I should…” She makes a gesture pointing to her face.

 

“Can I?” Max says.

 

Which is how she ends up straddling Victoria’s lap, razor balanced on the bathroom sink and having way too much fun whipping up the good-smelling froth on the end of a brush. Victoria giggles as Max spreads the foam across her face and neck.

 

“Are you trying to turn me into Santa Claus?” Victoria says.

 

“Maybe.” Max gets shaving cream on her own face from the kiss she gives Victoria.

 

The razor moves in smooth streaks, removing the little black hairs and leaving bare skin behind. Max can feel Victoria’s gaze on her and the hand that steadies her hips.

 

There’s a bitter sweetness about this. Like she’s watching the last drops of sand filling an hourglass, hoping that slowing time will space the grains just enough.

 

“Do you want aftershave so you can do the Home Alone face?” Max says, wiping the last of the shaving cream off Victoria’s face with a hot towel.

 

“Just moisturizer.” She says.

 

“The sun chased the plane all the way back from New York.” Max says, just to fill the air.

 

Victoria wraps a hand around her wrist.

 

“I got the results back.” She says.

 

“Yeah?” Max swallows hard.

 

“They found a new tumor. I think… it’s time to stop chemo. I want to feel good for the last few months I have.” 

 

“But there has to be something we can do. A therapy we haven’t tried.” Max says, voice shaking.

 

“It’s rearranging deck chairs on the Titanic, Maxine. I’ve made up my mind.” Victoria says, agitated.

 

“Yeah, well we’re in a fucking partnership, so I want a say.” Max gets up.

 

She looks down and sees the mottled bruises already appearing where she was sitting on her wife’s thighs.

 

“You don’t get prevent me from dying with dignity.” Victoria snaps.

 

Max rewinds.

 

She stands outside Door Number 4 and forces the heels of her hands into her eye sockets. That is like… way too fucking heavy for her. Jesus Christ.

 

⧞

 

_ Door Number 1. _

 

Cocaine dick is actually amazing. The series of baffling escalations that end in a Vampire Gang shootout--not so much.

 

Max is high and sitting in a bathtub full of blood, staring at the wall and listening to the sirens getting closer.

 

Vampires don’t erupt into blood or dust when they die. They drop into pale corpses, just like humans do.

 

Nathan’s body is on their bed, staining their bed with the same blood Max is sharing a tub with.

 

She’s still wondering what the fuck happened when the cops enter with guns drawn.

 

Oh yeah, she can rewind.

 

Max speed walks away from Door Number 1.

 

⧞

 

_ Door Number 3. _

 

“Max! It’s your powers causing the storm!” Warren says.

 

Max squints at that. She tilts her head, eyeing the splatter of rain and sea water  against the window of the Two Whales.

 

“Then why did I get a premonition of the storm before my powers?” Max says.

 

“Well, you didn’t tell me that detail, but now it sounds like a classic Donnie Darko situation. See, he has this premonition that all of these bad things are gonna happen because he doesn’t get killed by a jet engine falling in through his room.” Warren says.

 

“I’ve seen Donnie Darko, thanks.”

 

“Now you know what you gotta do.” Warren says.

 

“Go back to that day in the bathroom and get shot by Nathan instead of Chloe?” 

 

“What? No! Let events play out as they’re supposed to!”

 

“I’m failing to see why I would be given time travel powers if the lesson was ‘don’t use these to fix whatever the fuck is happening.” Max whisper-yells.

 

“I’m just going by sci fi conventions!” Warren throws up his arms.

 

“I don’t even know why I should bother listening to you, Warren!” Max says.

 

“Everything okay over there?” Joyce says.

 

She’s still crouching down to inspect Frank’s wounds.

 

“Yeah, Baby, back that ass up.” Max mutters, “It’s fine Joyce!” She calls.

 

“Max, are you okay? You’re acting really weird.” Warren reaches out for her.

 

“Nah, Warren. This fucking sucks.” Max says, wiping dirt off her face and rewinding.

 

Seriously, fuck Door Number 3.

 

⧞

 

_ Then. _

 

“It’s simple negging, really.” She says, voice throaty and thick like a purr.

 

The Pantheon is a club for the gods. Built atop the Andes, overlooking mountains, mist, and jungle. The decor was updated to Art Deco seventy years ago and the paint’s just now starting to chip.

 

Bast sits at a booth, cigarette in hand as she explains herself between puffs. Her seatmates, Eosphorus, Lucifer, whatever and their wife, Kore (or whatever they call her these days), and Ixchel. 

 

“You convince them that you have something they cannot attain by any means necessary.” Bast says.

 

“How did you pull that off?” Ixchel lights her own pipe.

 

“Chased off any other interested parties, then left her to stew in silence. The spiritual equivalent of a pity fuck. Boom, the most powerful witch of her age is eating out of my hand.” Bast says.

 

Persephone clears her throat, looking affronted.

 

“Oh please, you made a contract with your own niece. Get off your high horse.” Bast says.

 

“Can I be the high horse in this situation?” Lucifer says.

 

Persephone laughs.

 

⧞

 

_ Now. _

 

Rachel is struggling. She’s wilderness. She’s burning rage. She’s the blood of a god blooming under decayed flesh.

 

Mark is the decay she wrestles with. He’s oil. He’s the words whispered between powerful men and the money that changes hands. To get rid of him is to get rid of evil itself. 

 

Rachel feels herself faltering. She is inspiration, she is not pure good. Not the morally white choice, if anything she’s like… morally orange.

 

Luckily, morally blue arrives just in time to empty the rounds of a pistol into the mass of tentacles Rachel is wrestling with.

 

Chloe wobbles on uncertain feet, her lapse in life untethering her more than usual. She staggers like Jack Sparrow, the pirate that she is.

 

“Y’okay Rach?” She slurs, tongue bit through and hanging loosely.

 

The flies are getting to her and Rachel can feel her own features contorting with grief.

 

Chloe is dying again. Her Chloe.

 

Not on her fucking watch.

 

Walls of green go whizzing by as Rachel leads Chloe through the maze of vegetation towards the centre of the forest. They’re too slow to outrun the threat, but maybe they can get to the goddess first and ask for her protection.

 

Rachel’s astounded that they make it to the crest of the hill, seeing the circles of stones leading down the ravine. It all ends in that sacred sinkhole.  The goddess’s well.

 

“Thank you for the directions.” Comes that sick, slick voice.

 

Rachel gasps at the tendril that slips between her ribs, puncturing her lung. Air sounds like it’s coming out of a slowly deflating balloon.

 

She gropes into the ground for assistance from the roots. They rise up to build a shield, giving her time to heal.

 

“Rachel!” Chloe shouts, reaction delayed.

 

Her ankles and legs twist together on the ridge of the ravine, and the last time Rachel sees Chloe she has a face of blank confusion on her face.

 

“Shit.” She says, falling ass over applecart down the hill, hitting every stone on the way down, then just a ragdoll of pale limbs disappearing into the sinkhole.

 

Rachel screams, forest bending with the will of her grief.

 

⧞

 

_ Then. _

 

Kitsunes are supposed to be made of stronger stuff than humans. They aren’t supposed to turn to mush under the wheels of a logging truck.

 

Turns out kitsunes are just like everyone else. Fragile, mortal, and not immune to being crushed by oil, rubber, and steel.

 

(Chloe doesn’t live long enough to figure out if she’s one too. She’s got the eyes from William, but none of the magic to manifest. Maybe she’s a dud. Figures, dud in magic just like everything else in her life.

 

Well, not everything. She thinks that if she’s good at two things it’s getting into trouble and loving Rachel.)

 

William’s casket has to be closed on account of the state the body was found in. Chloe pinpoints this moment in her life as her first death.

 

At the time, she doesn’t know how many more she’ll live through.

 

⧞

 

_ Now. _

 

The sinkhole is so deep that the bottom can’t be seen without diving equipment. Not that anyone’s dared dive down here. Sinkholes are uncommon for Oregon. The ground’s all bedrock and fault line, not a lot of room underground.

 

This is, obviously, no ordinary sinkhole.

 

Chloe can feel The Old Woman more than see her. She’s the water and the thing living at the bottom.

 

Chloe should be drowning, but the water that fills her lungs feels like air. She opens her eyes and sees the shape swimming up to meet her. It’s calming and the most terrifying being she’s ever seen.

 

A woman’s face mounted on the body of an old pike.

 

“Well, this is a surprise.” The Old Woman says.

 

“You’re telling me.” Chloe says.

 

“How would you like to become the new spirit of Arcadia Bay, Chloe Price?” The Old Woman says.

 

“It’s really sad that you’re asking me to do this.” Chloe says, not questioning how she can breathe down here.

 

“You reached the cenote first.” The Old Woman says.

 

“Ah, process of elimination. I know it well.” Chloe says.

 

“Do you or not?” The Old Woman says.

 

“What’s in it for me?” Chloe says.

 

“Freedom from Victoria Chase. A body that will not rot.” The Old Woman says.

 

⧞

 

_ Now. _

 

Rachel digs her teeth into the tentacle holding her down. She stretches her power out, extending it from her teeth and into the tentacle. The energy explodes, then implodes.

 

Mark is trying to crawl away. Rachel rolls over, laughing and crawls, pinning him.

 

“You fucked up big time.” She says, panting.

 

“What are you?” He says, eyes huge.

 

“Way out of your league.” Rachel says, baring her teeth.

 

Mark tastes like black licorice and ash and everything nasty, but she doesn’t leave a single piece left on her plate.

 

Rachel pants, staring at the space where Mark used to inhabit, then bursts out laughing.

 

“Hell yeah, I’m a motherfucking monster.” She says, digging into her pocket for a cigarette.

 

The whole Earth seems to tip on its axis and she flops onto her side with it. Tears stream freely down her face. Losing Frank, Pompidou, and Chloe in one day. God, she’s so fucking tired. But, at the same time, energy pounds through her. Everything Mark was and consumed is now a part of her. That and the pulsing life force of the Earth.

 

Rachel is alive. Rachel is divine.

 

Rachel won.

 

Blue light creeps up from the Cenote and with it the sound of beating wings. She flops over to see the source of the sound and bursts out laughing.

 

“Hey Rach.” Chloe says.

 

Rachel looks up to see Chloe Price, illuminated by some kind of holy light and with wings of a blue jay.

 

“You have wings.” Rachel says, sucking back smoke, “They’re…” She pauses to drink Chloe in.

 

Chloe’s clothing is more tattered than usual, but her skin is pink and flush. The blue of her hair seems more vivid. The black scleras remain, but that just makes her look more…

 

“Badass?” Chloe offers.

 

“I was gonna say ‘hot’.” Rachel says.

 

Chloe rubs the back of her neck, unused to anyone looking at her with desire for like… well, since she died.

 

Maybe it’s the power surging through them, or seeing each other as they’ve been for the first time. Maybe it’s the adrenaline. Maybe--

 

“You have horns.” Chloe says.

 

“Do you like them?” Rachel says.

 

“They look fucking hardcore.”

 

Chloe reaches out to run a finger down one. Rachel closes her eyes and leans into the touch. Her on fingers roam the tatters of Chloe’s tank top until she reaches the joints of those wings. Chloe is startled by her own moan.

 

“Are they sensitive?” Rachel whispers.

 

“Don’t stop.” Chloe takes a shuddering breath.

 

It’s teeth trapping lower lips and sucking tongues kind of kissing. Jeans and underwear are shucked off in the same motion. 

 

They slide together with a practiced ease. Rachel tilts her head back, exposing her neck to Chloe’s mouth. 

 

“Pretty sure we look like the X-rated versions of our old blingee signatures.” Chloe whispers into Rachel’s skin.

 

Rachel laughs, bringing Chloe up for  a kiss. She pushes at Chloe’s tank top until a nipple is free for her to wrap her lips around. Chloe groans and Rachel digs her nails into the skin of her lover’s back.

 

“Fuck me.” Rachel growls.

 

“What do you think I’m doing?” Chloe says, sliding down onto her stomach until her neck is bracketed by Rachel’s thighs.

 

Rachel digs one hand into Chloe’s hair, the other into the ground. The Earth shakes and trees bloom with the force of her orgasm.

 

Looking between her legs to see her slick on Chloe’s cheeks and the shit eating grin the other girl has makes Rachel huff.

 

Here come the ‘did the Earth move for you too? Oh wait, I felt it.’ jokes from Chloe Price, master of pussy eating.

 

“Doggy style?” Chloe suggests, eyeing the moss below them.

 

“Thought we agreed that was not an outdoor activity after the Coachella incident?” Rachel says, getting on all fours anyway.

 

“I think our newfound divinity might make it worth another go.”

 

There is an appeal to the glen being completely silent aside from the slapping of flesh and their noises of pleasure. Chloe can’t decide if she likes holding Rachel’s horns or hair better. She’s using the latter when she senses the approach of a car on the highway. One that stops at Frank’s RV. The occupants get out and check the scene. They walk with purpose, moving at quite a clip towards the meadow.

 

“Rachel, we’ve got company coming.” Chloe pants, stopping.

 

Rachel grunts in agitation, grabbing Chloe’s wrist. She turns her head, eyes blazing and teeth bared.

 

“Don’t you dare, Chloe Price.”

 

Okay, coitus interruptus isn’t on Rachel’s list of concerns right now, so Chloe doubles her efforts to make Rachel cum so they can deal with the incoming interaction.

 

Luckily, it only takes a few more strokes before that wonderful thigh shaking sense of completion. Chloe rubs her through the aftershocks, then presses kisses to Rachel’s shoulders.

 

“Love you.” She whispers.

 

Rachel mirrors it, but her face is still burrowed in her arms and it comes out muffled.

 

Chloe rolls off, feeling damp moss against her bare ass. It isn’t the best sensation, but it sure beats having dry, clammy skin on account of being dead. She’s pulling her jeans and boots on when Rachel finally gets the energy to move.

 

“So we fucked.” Rachel says.

 

“Once or twice in our lives, yeah.” Chloe says, passing Rachel her clothes.

 

“I meant just now. You’re the first… there hasn’t been anyone else since I came back. I haven’t even touched myself.” She says.

 

“No one else has wanted to be with my zombie ass, but my right hand’s been busy. Were you not cool with us having sex?” Chloe pauses.

 

“No, I was… I’m just like… I think it was a side effect of the power high. Not that I didn’t want to have sex with you. I just wanted to take coming back to life slower.” Rachel says.

 

She grunts, leaning back on her shoulders to tug her skinny jeans up her thighs.

 

“Thanks for getting me an ass the right size by the way. I don’t know how hard this would have been if it was smaller.” Rachel says.

 

“It was as much for me as it was for you.” Chloe says, taking out a pair of cigarettes.

 

That’s when the crashing of branches and brush arrives and they look up to the crest of the clearing.

 

“Mom! Sera!” Rachel says, pulling her other shoe on and running, laces flopping around to greet her mothers.

 

Chloe freezes the way cats do when caught doing something they’re not supposed to. She wipes her face surreptitiously, trying not to look like the kid who just had their hand in the cookie jar. And ate all of the cookies.

 

Shit, she’s a god now, why can’t she rewind time like Max? The strain from trying just releases a subtle fart. Damn it.

 

The drive back is upbeat, if not a little awkward. Sera’s annoyed if anything, having made a whole jar of some healing goo for Rachel’s now fixed body. 

 

Chloe’s staring out the window, needing to process and having an internal conversation with William. She needs to update him on the whole resurrection contract thing, also share the mortifying anecdote of totally railing her on-again-off-again alive-again… Rachel practically in front of her parents.

 

Rachel’s talking excitedly with her hands about how she ate a suffering demon who was trying to absorb the town. Damn, when did the girl get into vore?

 

Rose, for her part, smiles and nods along to all of it, having turned down her Susan Boyle CD for the occasion. 

 

“Oh! And did you know that I’m half god?” Rachel adds.

 

Rose’s smile gets tighter and she winks at Rachel through the rear view mirror.

 

“Oh, a mother always knows.”

 

Chloe tunes in to that and for the first time notices the grape keychain dangling from the rearview mirror. It says ‘Wine Mom’, but paired with the fuzzy leopard dice and…

 

No. That would be ridiculous.

 

(A Rose by any other name.)

 

⧞

 

_ Now. _

 

Dana’s gone from looking sickly to rather flushed. She pumps the window controls, using the coolness from the rushing air to dissolve the sweat on her face.

 

“Is this a good thing? Is it bad? Talk to me Lorax!” Victoria says.

 

“I don’t know… it’s all weird. It’s like the earth was flat and now it’s all wavy. It might be good or bad, but it’s off-kilter.”

 

(In the back seat, Nathan sits between Kate and Courtney who is also tagging along. He keeps leaning back, trying to see who Kate’s been texting so obsessively. Courtney elbows him.

 

“Too close.” She says.

 

“I have a question for you, actually.” Nathan leans on the seat.

 

Courtney sighs.

 

“Does getting a dick drawn on your face make you a slave to cock?”

 

Kate huffs, elbowing Nathan without looking away from her phone.

 

She is actually curious too.

 

Courtney rubs her temple, “Umm… first of all, Rude. Second of all, it made make me serve someone who has ‘drawing of a penis’ as their name on their baby certificate, and even then, only if that person is Jewish. So….” 

 

“You forgot to say ‘thirdly’.” Kate adds quietly.

 

Nathan finally catches sight of Kate’s screen and whoops.

 

“It’s a boy! Marsh, you slut!”

 

“Nathan, I will eat you.” Kate snaps.

 

“Ooo Kate, who is it? Are you dating?” Courtney goes into gossip mode.)

 

Dana perks up at that, “Wait, Kate’s talking to a guy?”

 

“Oh my goddd….” Kate groans.

 

“Duh, why do you think she keeps giggling at her phone?” Victoria says, slowing the car to let some kids on bikes go by.

 

“Who is it?” Courtney says.

 

“Her phone said, ‘Michael Heart Emoji’.” Nathan says.

 

Kate looks at him like an angry muppet.

 

“How many Michaels do we know?” Dana says.

 

“There’s Mike Walsh, Mike McConnell, Michael Dawson, Michael Browning…” Courtney starts ticking off fingers.

 

“Please, like Kate’s dating McConnell. His dick game is so subpar.” Victoria says.

 

The realization dawns on Dana and Nathan’s faces at the same time. They whip around to Kate in tandem, and it’s actually fucking terrifying. Damn drama kids and their dramatics.

 

“You’re dating Mikey North!”

 

Kate opens the door and rolls out.

 

“Bye bitch.” Victoria shouts, rolling down the window.

 

Kate flips her off, already starting the walk back towards town.

 

The railroad warning lights are flashing and Victoria hits the dashboard in her agitation.

 

“They could be dead or dying and we keep getting slowed down!” She yells.

 

Dana turns in her seat to observe Victoria with a tilted head.

 

“You’re worried about them.” She sounds surprised.

 

“Duh! Can’t leave them alone for ten minutes without someone losing a pint of blood or an eye or…” Victoria’s voice goes high then huffs out.

 

She rubs her eye with the heel of her palm.

 

There’s a honk that catches their attention. On the opposite side of the tracks, idling, is the Amber family Pontiac. The silver one that has both a, ‘My child is an honour student’, and an ‘I Want To Believe’ sticker.

 

The train goes by in a rushing of noise and machinery. The sun’s going down, turning the sky a pink and grey behind the treeline.

 

When the train clears, Chloe’s out of the car and leaning on the hood, arms folded. Victoria gets out of the car and storms under the barrier and across the tracks.

 

“Jesus, I thought your line had been cut again because you were there and suddenly you weren’t and… you have wings.” Victoria’s hands go from the shoulders she was about to shake to brush against blue feathers.

 

“Yeah, the whole mind slave thing is over, bitch.” Chloe says.

 

⧞

 

_ Now. _

 

“Did you have a good walk, Sweetheart?” Elizabeth says, twisting the thimble on her pinkie.

 

Max feels like she’s spent the past few months lying down on a busy highway and just letting the cars flatten her. Only, emotionally.

 

“You were right.” She says, defeated.

 

“About what?” Elizabeth says.

 

“Loving someone only to watch them die… watching them all die.”

 

Elizabeth hugs her close, “It’s okay, Darling. You’ll always have me.”

 

⧞

 

_ Four Months Later. _

 

February is when the weather starts to suck a little less. January was all bitter winds and frozen rain. Cloudy and mild is a welcome relief.

 

Rachel talks animatedly in front of her webcam, answering questions, ranting, making small interactions way more dramatic than they were. Her subscriber count on YouTube keeps climbing and with it, her horns keep growing. She can glamour when she’s in front of the camera, but off of it, she shows off her divinity.

 

Chloe makes guest appearances in videos titled, ‘Doing my girlfriend’s makeup’ and ‘How we first met’. She likes to read all of the comments out loud in dumb voices.

 

( _ “I ship you two so much!” _

 

_ “I love my gay moms.” _

 

_ “They’re not gay, okay. They’re just very good friends. One day I hope to have a friendship like theirs.” _

 

_ “Rachel. You are so beautiful. You dress modestly, but I think you are making a mistake by kissing girls. Girls can only be with boys and you’re kidding yourselves and confused. Here is my personal address.” _ )

 

Chloe’s traded one cage for another. The god of Arcadia Bay can’t leave the boundaries of town without creating an abyss and killing basically everyone. So, she’s stuck playing civic leader in a nicer truck and jeans that have been washed, wondering what the fuck happened to make her grow up.

 

Victoria walks to class with Nathan in tow. He no longer has to stick to shadows as a skinny cat, now that Mark’s dead. It doesn’t stop him from keeping the familiar form, if only because it’s less likely for Kate to snap at him.

 

Kate, who walks with a bit more swagger these days. She lets her hair down, grows her claws out, and wears a leather jacket she inherited from a family member she didn’t get a chance to know. It came with a note that only said, “Sorry. - F.”

 

As for Max, they (being Chloe, Kate, and Victoria) find her sprawled out on the steps leading up to Blackwell with a McDonald's bag and three hundred dollar Reeboks. She smells like the air during a lightning storm. Victoria openly rolls her eyes at the Marty McFly inspired outfit. What kind of fucking nerd. 

 

“Where the fuck have you been?” She says.

 

Max has both hands wrapped around her McChicken and replies with her mouth full.

 

“I went into a six month coma, this was as close to the time I left as I could get.”

 

“That doesn’t make sense.” Chloe says.

 

Max chokes on her sandwich at the sight of Chloe.

 

“Dude! You’re...” She says struggles with the words, “You look like your old blingee signature.”

 

Chloe winces, but pulls Max in for a hug.

 

“Missed you.” She says into a puffy shoulder.

 

“I might be getting McChicken sauce on you.”

 

“What. The fuck. Happened?!” Victoria reiterates, ready to throw down.

Max’s eyes are older, sadder. She stuffs her hands into her pockets and turns to face Victoria, still looking at her from behind her hair.

 

Chloe, sensing the tension of the moment, turns to Kate to say, “Hey wanna go do something else for like ten minutes?”

 

“I’d be thrilled.” Kate says.

 

They walk slowly to hear Max’s explanation, but leave the two to their tiff.

“I broke the limit on my powers. I can see it all now.” She says.

“And?” Victoria says, “Are you even more of a dick about the inevitability of fate than before you left?”

 

(Max closes her eyes and sees her wife with tubes in her nose. She hears the beeping of the heart rate monitor. She feels a limp, dry hand in her grasp as she watches Victoria take her last breaths.)

Max finishes her sandwich, despite it turning to ash in her mouth.

 

“No. I care about all of it. All of you. All of them.” Max says.

She fidgets with the case of her phone.

“Why didn’t you…” Victoria exhales through her nose, “You could’ve brought me or told me or… something.”

“Because it wasn’t  _ our  _ journey. It was mine.” Max says.

Victoria moves her mouth as if she was choking. Hurt flashes across her eyes and she balls her fists.

“Oh.” She manages to say, though it’s more of a wounded sound through a rounded mouth, “Right. You should’ve taken Nathan then.”

 

“Victoria. He and I--”

 

“You fucked. I know. He told me all of the gory details.” Victoria snaps.

 

“It’s not--”

 

Victoria doesn’t let Max finish, turning on heel and storming off towards the dorms.

Max follows Victoria’s retreating form with slow loping strides. Victoria’s speed walking with her arms wrapped around her waist. The door to the dorms slams in Max’s face.

Max tries to swipe her keycard, but it wasn’t revalidated with the new semester.

“Aw shit.” She says.

Feeling a sudden empathy for Kate and Nathan in their bestial forms, Max walks through the bushes lining the dorm to her own slightly open window.

“Hello, Young Max.” Comes a breathy voice behind her.

“Oh, hey Samuel.” Max says, standing on her tiptoes and struggling to push the window open further.

“Are you still between worlds?” He asks.

“Nah, I’ve settled for now. How’re the squirrels?” Max grunts.

Samuel does not move to help her.

The window slides open to reveal Nathan standing above with a hand outstretched.

“They’re dreaming for now. Such sweet dreams, of gods with horns and wings.” Samuel says.

“Good for them.” Max says.

She gives Samuel a wave before taking Nathan’s hand and setting a shoe against the wall. He grunts with the exertion and she climbs into the window, knocking her water bottle to the floor with a ‘thwong’. It rolls into the planter that houses Lisa’s corpse.

“Aww… Lisa. I’m such a bad plant mom.” Max says.

She rolls onto her knees from her spot on the floor and checks the room around her. Her bookshelves and printer have a thin coating of dust, but the bed and couch look used. Her computer is still in rest mode. She wonders if it’s been left on the shopping site she was browsing before she left.

“Have you all been sleeping in my bed?” Max says.

Nathan shrugs, refusing to admit to it despite the evidence. His skin is pinker than when she saw him last. There’s a rosiness to his cheeks and nose.

Max flops against her mattress and groans in enjoyment.

“Oh Bed, I’ve missed you.”

 

“You were gone long.” Nathan says.

 

Max looks at him from beneath her lashes. He has his hands fisted into his pockets, chewing his lower lip like he’s holding words in.

 

“I was.” Max says.

 

“People were worried.” Nathan says.

 

“I’ll leave a note next time.” Max really doesn’t want to have this conversation.

 

He isn’t taking the hint to leave.

 

“So, while Chloe and Rachel do appear to have reached Godhood, you have not. Didn’t get enough of my blood, Nathan?” Max says, sitting up.

 

Nathan twists his left palm around his right arm.

 

“I never wanted to be a god, I just wanted to be closer to someone… anyone.” His voice is very small.

 

(“I love you.” He whispers into her shoulder.

 

Max feigns sleep, because he’s never this soft when she’s awake. He traces the veins on her neck before rubbing his nose there. Settling in and closing his eyes.

 

That’s when a boot kicks the door in.)

 

“Did Rachel throw you away once she got what she needed from you?” Max says.

 

“It’s not like that!” He yells.

 

“You stole from me and fucked me under false pretenses, Prescott. We’re done here.” Max says.

 

She has a migraine coming and just wants to sleep this all off.

 

⧞

 

_ Now. _

 

Dust motes swirl in the lamplight. It’s still too dim at this time of day to go without electricity. It’s weird, living in other lifetimes has made this one feel both less and more. She’s stepping through a familiar tableau, looking at a photograph she took years ago.

 

Her guitar is cold from disuse. Max checks the tune by twanging each chord and humming. She twists the knob of her G and A strings to bring them back to on key.

 

She warms it up with some noodling and feels the air around her come alive. The dorm holds its breath to listen to her play.

 

It’s like her spirit and her body are finally lining back up. It’s a little tight from her absence, but it’ll grow around her.

 

As for the music, well, no matter what universe she’s been to, a B string sounds like a B string.

 

Max wets her lips, voice hoarse from her McChicken and unchecked emotions.

 

_ “But if you close your eyes, does it almost feel like nothing changed at all?” _

 

⧞

 

_ I don't need you, I don't need you _

_ Besides I barely ever see you anymore _

_ And when I do it feels like you're only halfway there _

_ Young mothers love me even ghosts of _

_ Girlfriends call from Cleveland _

_ They will meet me anytime and anywhere _

_ The day I die, the day I die _

_ Where will we be? _

 

_ Day I Die - The National _

 

⧞

 

_ Addendum. _

 

“Dude, get up!” Chloe doesn’t bother knocking.

 

Max groans as a pillow hits her face.

 

“What do you want?” Max mumbles.

 

Chloe sits on the edge of the bed, watching Max with one of those hard to read expressions. Divinity has made Chloe less of an open book. To Max at least.

 

“You’ve been back a week and it’s like you’re still gone. Get the fuck out of your room, Tit Van Winkle.” Chloe pinches Max’s nipple for emphasis.

 

Max shrieks, kicking off her blankets and aiming a foot at Chloe’s face. They struggle, sliding off the bed and onto the floor.

 

“So what’s got you hiding out here?” Chloe asks once she’s got Max in a headlock.

 

“I am not hiding.” Max grunts, trying to escape.

 

Chloe doesn’t exert any more effort to keep Max trapped. She yawns, feeling actually quite comfortable.

 

“Chloe! Get off.” Max says.

 

“Just say what’s been eating you, other than Nathan, because ew, Dude, get standards.” Chloe says.

 

“I will call him and get him to rail me in front of you if it will make you go away.” Max squirms.

 

“Kinky, Max. Still waiting.” Chloe says.

 

Max goes limp and starts mumbling.

 

“Didn’t catch that.” Chloe leans closer.

 

Max kicks her in the crotch. Chloe grunts, but doesn’t let go. Max shrieks in agitation.

 

“Fine! Grandma said that there’s no point to being immortal and having a life with people who love you because they all just fucking die! There! The sooner everyone stops caring about me, the sooner we can all move on with our existences until the heat death of the universe.” Max’s voice cracks.

 

Chloe releases her grip and leans over Max on one shoulder.

 

“Max. Listen to me. Your grandma is a sad old woman who lives in existential isolation. She’s not the best person to ask about having friends.” Chloe says.

 

“But she’s the only person I can ask about… this.” Max gestures at herself.

 

Chloe waves a hand in front of her face, “Hey, guess what? I’m a god too now shithead.”

 

“Yeah, well, you only got that after dying. Like twice.” Max grumbles.

 

They’re lying side by side on the floor by Max’s bed now. Max thinks back to Kate sleeping here a few months ago. About the man at the window.

 

“Hey, did you ever figure out who killed Frank that one time?” Max says.

 

Chloe winces, “Twice. Frank’s hella dead now. We poured one out for him. The service was uncomfortable.”

 

“Oh. Sorry.” Max says.

 

“He was kind of shit.” Chloe says, “I do miss him though.”

 

Max hums, feeling that sadness settling in again, “See? Everyone dies. And we get to keep on living for eternity.”

 

“Well yeah, but eternity is gonna be pretty fucking boring if we’re just eating salted crackers and jerking off because we don’t wanna get attached to anyone.” Chloe says.

 

Max closes her eyes, “Yeah. Maybe.”

 

“Don’t ‘yeah maybe’ me, Max Caulfield.” Chloe sits up so she can wag a finger in Max’s face, “Look. I’ve died more than you have, and I’ve lived twice as much because of it. Whether it’s the heat death of the universe or the barrel of a gun, I’m gonna die with no regrets. I don’t want to go out with people not knowing how I felt or who I was. Chloe Price, Captain Overshare, until the day I die.”

 

Max bursts into tears. Chloe balks at that before moving within comforting range.

 

“I went through every door, Chloe. I watched them all die. I waited for Kate to come home from work, only to find out she’d been swept downstream while rescuing a kid’s hat. Or watching drug dealers gut Nathan from my hiding space in the closet. Victoria gets cancer, and-and-and you got hit by a train, and shot, and shot.” Her words are incoherent at the end.

 

Chloe hushes Max and pulls her into an embrace.

 

“Hey, hey. We’re all alive and okay here.” She says into Max’s hair.

 

“For how long? There’s millions of ways that everyone can and does die and I see them all.” Max keens.

 

Chloe holds Max’s cheeks, “Max. I want you to stop focusing on what could happen, and start focusing on what you want to do.”

 

Max swallows hard, “But what if?”

 

“Fuck the but if, Dude.”

 

Chloe pauses to giggle at having said, “fuck the butt”. Max snorts.

 

Max is wiping at her tears, “Thanks. I needed that.”

 

“Damn right. Getting your head out of your ass. It’s what I’m here for.” Chloe dusts her knees off as she gets up, offering a hand.

 

“Speaking of asses, how is your mom doing?” Max says.

 

“Forget what I said, fuck you.” Chloe storms towards the door.

 

“Let her know that if she ever gets tired and needs a place to sit, my face is always available.” Max shouts at her retreating form.

 

Through the open door, she sees Victoria looking like a deer caught in the headlights, her own door open and smoke swirling into the hallway. A black cat twists between her legs, purring and refusing to point anything but his upturned tail in Max’s direction.

 

Max raises a tentative hand in a small wave.

 

Victoria huffs and slams the door.

 

But.

 

She doesn’t lock it.

 

_The End._  


 

_ As Above, So Below, _

_ As Within, So Without, _

_ As The Universe, _

_ So The Soul. _

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Went pretty far up my own ass on this one. Hope at least it came out making some sort of sense. It's 4AM! Feel free to ask follow up questions in the comments.
> 
> Yes, Victoria is trans in this and I love my trans daughter.
> 
> Yes, Max's Grandma is Elizabeth from Bioshock. I tried to explain her story so that you wouldn't have to play the game to get it, but if you had played the game, you'd go "aaaaa".


End file.
